Fulgor
by Jaya Mitai
Summary: Sequel to Compromise, set in animeverse. Ten months have passed since the brothers set out to create Knives' Eden and free the Plants. Has Vash's plan already failed? Ch. 42 is up, in which life goes on - for everyone. And at long last, the story is complete!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Please don't sue.

Anime-verse only. This is set ten months after my previous Trigun fic, **Compromise**. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but then I got a little email in my inbox containing the cutest little fluffy plotbunny you ever saw! This is a direct sequel to the first story, so I suggest you catch it first before starting this one.

**- - -**

**Ten Months Later**

It felt like convulsing, like dry heaving. A need to expunge without the satisfaction of feeling anything go. His muscles writhed and his mouth was stretched wide, but not even sound could be emitted. The cool, curved surface beneath him didn't conform to any comfortable position, no matter where he tried to move. His position within wasn't limited; the wires and tubes were on retractors, to give him run of the entire container without fear of catching or tangling in them.

When his body stopped moving and relinquished control back to him he stirred, his chest heaving and his body slicked with exertion and fluids. It was almost too cold; though he wasn't certain how to make it any warmer he knew, desperately, that he wanted to. Sometimes his body would tremble all over for a time, and it seemed to help.

But now his body was far too tired. It was almost too tired to even move.

His head rolled to the side, and he stared at the gentle curves of his world. Light was dispersed through the walls, making whatever was outside seem diluted and translucent. Sometimes he could make out shapes that looked a little like him. Sometimes the amount of light changed. There didn't seem to be a pattern to either, but he kept watching because it occupied his time.

He felt a twinge, deep within his stomach, the same twinge he always felt when he thought about time. It seemed to him as though time was critical, time was something that made him anxious, but he couldn't fathom why. Time was simply a measurement of his existence, and tracking that existence didn't seem to have purpose. He existed within his rounded, sloped world.

And that was all.

One of his tubes began to change colors, as they often did, and he watched the new shade slide from the ceiling, a deeper pink than it had been before. It collided with the lighter pink; they fought and intermingled and all the while the tube became more and more rose until finally the darker color had won, and rushed to meet him. His mottled arm rarely reacted or changed colors to match the tubes, but this time it seemed to flush slightly, and for the first time he felt heat.

He wondered why he had wanted to be warm. Because if this was heat, it was unpleasant and painful. He felt his mouth open again, but his body struggled equally to produce sound and suppress it. He curled his body around the limb, wishing he had another one like it on the other side. If he had, he could wrap them both up together and the cool of the one could mix and mingle with the searing of the other.

Instead, he had to make due with his legs, folding them up and pinning his burning arm between them and his chest.

It didn't make the hurt go away. His chest started to heat, and he closed his eyes and waited for the darker pink to go away.

- . -

The familiar feel of the paper brought a smile to her face, and she rubbed it between her fingers thoughtfully before she broke the old-fashioned wax seal and opened the thrice-folded letter. She always read them twice, first at a lightning pace to get all the information as quickly as possible, then she'd start again, very slowly, savoring every word.

If Meryl cared, she'd probably think Millie did that because she was afraid of bad news.

But she didn't care. It wasn't her letter.

He didn't send her letters.

He sent Millie letters.

And she sent letters back.

Meryl did her best to ignore her partner, focusing instead on the cross-stitch in her lap. They'd finally hit a city with a loom, and she'd managed to buy thread in an unheard-of seventy shades. It had cost her almost a month's wages, but it was well worth it. Even if what she made wasn't any good, it would still sell for at least a hundred double-dollars.

She kept that thought firmly in mind as Millie sighed, hmmed, giggled, and clucked her tongue at the odd paper in her hands. It was thicker than the stuff Bernardelli used for memos and reports – it was probably made out of real wood. She tried not to think on the irony of a Plant killing a plant to save a Plant.

It just made her angrier.

She flicked the needle through the base fabric, shifting the hoop in her lap to make it a little easier to see. The suns were just starting to touch the horizon, so there was plenty of light coming through the tinted window, but it seemed that the later into the week it got, no matter how much light there was, it was harder for her to see the fine stitching.

His letters always came at the end of the week. And hers always went out at the beginning.

Millie sighed wistfully and the odd paper hissed as she separated the blank sheet from the inked one. Again, if Meryl ever thought about it, she'd figure that that was how Knives was able to tell whether the letter really came from Millie, or it came from another human.

But she didn't think about that, either. No one else was going to write a letter to Vash the Stampede. Certainly not her.

"Sempai –"

"I don't care, Millie," she snapped, and their usual late-week ritual began again.

"Of course you do!" Millie babbled without heat. "Vash is two cities behind us! He's asked us not to make him out as such a dangerous man. He said that when he walked into the Mayor of New Oregon's office, the poor man actually started crying!"

Meryl made a dismissive noise.

"I always liked the Mayor of New Oregon . . ." She trailed off. "Oh! And Mr. Knives is making headway with the terraforming – three square iles already! Can't you just imagine how beautiful it must be?"

Yes, all that green grass floating on the blood of a thousand disemboweled humans. It must be lovely. Meryl clamped her teeth around her tongue and said nothing.

"Three of the other Plants are helping him, but the one from Warrens – she picked Aliya as her name, isn't it beautiful? – is still recovering from the extraction process, and she's still not too sure about them. He says that she reminds him of me! Isn't that an odd thing to say?"

Meryl pictured herself shoving Millie into a giant bulb, and standing outside it in the dark as nothing happened.

"Elizabeth has figured out a way to put the energy gathered by the solar panels into the old Plant hardware without the need for massive modifications, so they've cut down on the pre-production time by more than half! We'll have to be sure to add that to our documentation when we go to Inepral City tomorrow. Isn't that great news?"

Meryl finally looked away from her work, eyes not on Millie but her typewriter. "That's just great, Millie. I just got finished typing up the five copies we needed to hand out an hour ago. Now I have to redo all of them."

"I'll do it!" Millie flounced out of the chair, almost flying over to the typewriter even as Meryl struggled to get her legs out from under her. Lately she'd found the most comfortable position was to sit on one folded leg, but she'd been cross-stitching so long it had fallen asleep.

She blew some dark bangs out of her face in irritation. Okay, so she'd typed them up at noon. And she'd known full well that any news on the production of the solar-based plants Elizabeth, Vash, and Knives had cooked up would be in the letter tonight. She'd expected that they'd made some headway, since apparently just two weeks ago the broom-headed idiot had stumbled across the partial wreckage of a SEEDs ship with schematics for an ancient technology. Of course, ancient Lost Technology was revolutionary to the dry space rock known as Gunsmoke, so the historical engineer's files – the engineer himself having been killed in the Great Fall – had apparently been the most exciting find ever in the universe.

Millie had already started clacking away at the typewriter, but Meryl set aside the cross-stitch hoop and rubbed her temples in irritation, straightening her legs in an effort to get circulation back. There was no point in doing any more work tonight. It would be dark soon enough, and they had an early steamer to catch.

So now they had a way to work the panels into the main Plant hardware, which negated the necessity of the two week demolition and reorganization process. Considering Knives' stipulation that the Plants had to be freed the moment the 'upgrade' began, this would be welcome news indeed. New Phoenix, a relatively small city to have its own Plant, was currently preparing for their offline time thanks to them. The town had been oddly cooperative, however, considering they would be without power – and the ability to generate water, food, and other goods – for two weeks. All the cities were allowed a week to stockpile, and this one was nearing the end of that time. They still had power and the ability to generate anything they needed, but already the quiet peace of the city was being challenged.

Inepral City was, for the first time, not a place she was looking forward to visiting. It was by far the largest settlement they'd even attempted, with four Plants. Two of them were specialized. In their case, several solar plants would need to be constructed, and currently there weren't enough available advanced teams to even get the preparations done. But they'd be much more receptive to the project if it meant a week or less of downtime.

And, in the end, it wasn't as though they really had a choice.

Hondelic had been proof of that.

It was the first and last time she'd seen Vash since he'd left with Knives.

And it was definitely the last time she ever wanted to.

He'd been almost unrecognizable. She'd forgotten, following him as long as she had, that he was truly capable of living up to his ill-earned title. She hadn't forgotten that he could be intimidating if he had to, but –

He hadn't killed. She didn't know if it made her feel better or worse, but it was worth noting. He'd explained very concisely what he was going to do, and then he'd done it.

That was the second Plant he'd freed, but as far as the rest of Gunsmoke was concerned, it was the only one of note. It made her job a joke, more or less – no one dared deny him. Not after that.

Inepral City had all but signed their new contract with Bernardelli, new techniques or not. The solar plants were only meant as a temporary fix for the lack of Plant, but they were turning out to work more efficiently than anyone had dared hope. Fusion reactors were well on their way, something to do with the oxide coating on the silica-rich sand growing much faster under two suns than one, but the hardware and sheer materials necessary to build those reactors were a few years from being marketable.

That was the hurdle they were accustomed to having to navigate as they negotiated the new contracts. The fact that there was going to be a large lag between the removal of the Plant and the introduction of a renewable power source that could produce the same amount of energy.

Cutting that time in half, after only four Plant replacements, showed significant progress. They could put a hell of a spin on this.

Not that it mattered. Not that Chief gave a damn, as long as they kept to their schedule and made sure they got to the cities before Vash the Stampede did.

Meryl rubbed her temples harder, trying to squish the thoughts into oblivion. Millie, still cheerfully clattering away on the typewriter, was not helping. She tended to do her typing in spurts, so that there would a pause before a violent flurry of noise. It was nothing like the rhythmic, almost measured pattering in the office, and it was slowly driving her crazy.

No, scratch that; it was quickly driving her crazy.

"Stop, Millie," she heard herself snap, again without really meaning to. "I'll do it. You might as well write your letter back. We have to leave very early in the morning, and we both need to be at our best when we reach Inepral City. We can't have you droopy-eyed and yawning like you were in Warrens. It was just embarrassing."

"Okay, sempai. Thanks!" Meryl stood, limping slightly on her still-tingling leg, and waited for Millie to almost apologetically gather up her favorite pen and the special paper before taking her seat at the desk.

Typos. She yanked the ruined page out of the typewriter, crumpling it and tossing it at the trashcan. If Millie noticed her sourer than usual mood, she said nothing. She curled up on the odd, two-person sofa in their hotel room and started scribbling.

It wasn't fair to call it scribbling, Meryl chided herself, feeling guilty but not apologizing. Millie had some of the most beautiful, flowing handwriting she'd ever seen. It was almost like artwork. When Millie would be in the middle of the Millie Monthly, when they couldn't afford separate rooms, she'd sometimes lay facing the other girl, eyes half-lidded and watching the way her delicate wrists flicked, the way the pen traveled across the page as though it were drawing out the very path the letter would later take to eventually get to her big little sister and little little brother.

And now it was drawing out the magical path that would take that letter to a place where no human, not even Millie, was allowed to go. How the hell the letters got from the nearest town to the Plants' domain was something Millie either didn't know or was sworn not to tell. Then again, Meryl had never really pressed her for the information, just mentioning it in grumbles now and then.

After all, she thought, jamming a new, thin, dingy white piece of paper into her cherished typewriter, she didn't care. It wasn't as though she'd send that creep a letter, even if his psychopathic murdering twin of a brother would actually let him read it.

He hadn't even said goodbye.

And she didn't see a need to. Not anymore. Not after so many months.

He didn't even ask about her. Millie would tell her if he asked about her in his letters, and she'd never mentioned it. Not once.

Not that she'd read them, even when Millie offered. Not that Millie offered, anymore. No matter how she allowed the insults and churlish behavior to bounce off her, Millie wasn't completely blind to how much this arrangement had hurt her. Clearly the taller girl had come to the conclusion that it would be easier on everyone if she just passed on the pertinent information and kept the rest of the letter's contents to herself.

And she'd come to the conclusion that it was much better for everyone if she just didn't care.

And so she didn't.

Dammit.

- . -

Millie tried not to appear to be paying attention, and after a long pause and a series of deep breaths, the steady, soothing clatter of metal hammers on ink ribbon broke the oppressive silence. She hid a little smile, and relaxed into the couch. She'd carried her Bernadelli insurance form handbook over from the desk, and she placed it on the overstuffed armrest, smoothing the blank page of paper down on the hard cover before picking up her pen.

_Mr Vash,_

_It was good to hear from you! I'm glad that the pre-production time has been cut; Elizabeth's teams were falling behind our schedule, and I think it's going to be two days before the advance preparation team here will be able to follow us to Inepral City. We're taking the sand steamer out tomorrow, so I'll have to be sure to put this in the mail tonight, otherwise it'll be late arriving and I know how much I like getting your letters, so I hope you like getting mine just the same!_

_Tell Elizabeth thank you for the job offers, but I think we'll have to pass. I would love an engineering position eventually, but for now we have our work cut out for us renegotiating all the Bernardelli contracts. We're meeting less resistance now, I think partly due to all your hard work getting the solar plants to work so well! And eventually we'll run out of cities with Plants, and then all the contracts will be renegotiated so I won't have much to do, and there will be the fusion reactors to build, so of course then I'd be happy to help._

_Meryl also says thank you, but she feels the same way I do – we have a lot of work to do and I just don't think Sempai trusts it to anyone else. She's just started taking up cross-stitch again, and she won't let me see what she's sewing. I bet it's a landscape; she bought so many colors of thread that I just don't think it could be anything else. As soon as it's finished I'll try to sneak a picture of it to you._

_My family is great – thank you for asking! The panels you sent them have been installed, although Big Little Brother fell off the roof and had to take it easy for a few days afterwards. They said they're working wonderfully, and they even have hot running water now! Little Little Sister loves using the hot tap to make her tea at night. She doesn't understand how boiling water could just come out without using the stove! They've tried to explain it to her, but Big Big Brother once told her it was magic and for some reason that stuck._

_Well, that's all for now. I'm sure I'll have lots to tell you about Inepral City as soon as we arrive, so I'll be sure to ask for an extra piece of paper, just in case! Take care, and don't worry about hurrying. Sempai is pretty sure the city council in Inepral City will try to stall for a little while, which should make all the schedules line right back up again. Well, I guess it's good night, then! Sleep well._

_Millie_

_Mr Knives,_

_Thank you for sending this letter on to me. I'm glad to hear that your terraforming is going so well! Three square iles already! It sounds really beautiful – I hope it's exactly what you always pictured. It's nice that your sisters are helping out. Had they ever seen grass before? I'm sure Aliya will warm right up as soon as she feels better. I know that your sisters don't have the same needs to sleep and eat as we humans do, but my mother always felt that a nice cup of tea was a wonderful way to relax. My family is using the solar panels you sent us in part to help the garden, and they're growing several kinds of teas. If you'd like, I'd be happy to include some of the leaves when the crop comes in, so you and Mr. Vash and your sisters can try out several kinds and pick your favorites!_

_It's late, and I want to make sure that this letter gets to you and Mr. Vash on time, so I'm going to wrap it up for now. If it's not too much trouble, can you include another piece of paper in the next letter? I've tried to make my handwriting smaller so I don't waste this beautiful paper, but I'm afraid if I make it much smaller the head of the pen will be too big in comparison and the words will start to run together. If you can't, I completely understand! We're about to take a sand steamer to Inepral City, and it's such a big and wonderful place, I'm sure we'll have all kinds of interesting things to tell you and your brother about next week!_

_Thank you again for passing these letters back and forth, and please let me know what kinds of tea you and your family would like to try._

_Millie_

She grinned at the letter, waiting for the absorptive paper to completely draw in the ink before she carefully folded it along the lines already pressed into the page. Mr. Knives hadn't ever once responded to her, though apparently he spoke – or thought – responses at Mr. Vash, because he always included them. Then again, Mr. Vash could be doing the same thing she was doing with Meryl, and taking his best guess. Either way, she was certain that Mr. Knives carefully read the correspondences before he forwarded them on to his brother.

Maybe not now, though. Maybe he was starting to trust Mr. Vash again. That would be nice, if they could start to trust one another like they must have when they were little boys.

Of course, that trust would never extend to her. Not in her lifetime. Compared to how long they had lived, the best she could hope for was that her care would create a road for other humans to walk, long after she had passed on. It was enough for her to express honest concern and caring, and know that even if he didn't believe her, and it was for all the wrong reasons, he was reading.

It was more credit than she could give Meryl.

But that wasn't fair. Sempai was hurting very much, and every time she'd offered a letter and Meryl had refused, it had seemed like a little more of her was breaking. It wasn't as though Meryl was not allowed to read Mr. Vash's letters – Knives had never said she couldn't. He'd simply said only Millie was allowed to communicate directly with his brother, and Mr. Vash had confirmed that request. She knew why, and she knew Meryl understood why.

She also understood that it didn't help.

It had been almost ten months since Knives and Vash had left, to free their sisters and build their Eden. It might as well have been ten years – time didn't seem to wear on grief like everyone said. Her own was still fresh and hot in her heart, and seeing Meryl so sad only made her own pain worse. At least she had known that he loved her back.

Her Mr. Priest. Her Nicholas D. Wolfwood. At least she'd had the chance to explain to him, to show him that she cared. At least he'd gotten the chance to respond. Even if he had been snatched from her the very next morning, at least they'd had those precious, precious hours.

In a way, she'd gotten her goodbye. It didn't help yet, but she was sure someday it would.

Meryl hadn't gotten her chance. She'd had all the opportunities she could ever have wanted, but she hadn't taken any of them. And now it didn't look like there'd be many more, not anytime soon.

She knew that Mr. Vash had a very fine line to walk, that Mr. Knives was still afraid of betrayal. But she also knew that eventually, Mr. Vash would win his brother's trust. When that happened, he would be able to talk to Meryl again. They couldn't be together, in the traditional sense – Mr. Knives would never allow it. And after what she'd seen in the few cities they'd already visited, she wouldn't be surprised if even the thought of a human walking beside them disgusted the freed Plants.

There was a lot of pain, a lot of hurt. A lot of wrong. It would take a long time for all the wounds to close over, for the pain to abate. It wouldn't happen overnight. But it would happen.

They just had to be patient.

Millie tucked the letter back into the envelope, glancing around the room for the lighter. She found it where she'd left it, winking at her with the last of the sun's rays on the windowsill. It only took a few seconds for that flame to soften the crimson wax that had previously bound the letter closed, and she resealed it exactly the way Mr. Vash had shown her.

She didn't wonder at it; she knew well why she had to use Nicholas' lighter, and it had to be done this way. There was also the matter of the powder on the paper, the thickness of it. She wasn't sure whether it absorbed her sweat and thus confirmed her identity with genetic material, or it somehow reacted to the ink in the pens he'd given her.

Maybe it was something darker than that. She didn't think so, but every once in a while she was too trusting and she didn't want this to be one of those times.

She knew Mr. Vash would never hurt her, but she had already thought of the loophole she was sure he must have realized Knives had put into their agreement. She'd negotiated too many insurance contracts to have missed it.

She was the only human Mr. Vash was allowed to directly communicate with. When Mr. Knives determined the project had been completed, or completed enough, the easiest way to sever that communication to the humans without violating Mr. Vash's trust would be to kill her.

And the only way to prevent that was to give Mr. Knives a reason not to do it. Even if that reason was nothing more than homegrown Ceylon tea, or the fact that stories of her Little Little Brother and Little Big Sister made Mr. Vash smile. Even if she could never convince him to let Mr. Vash write letters to Meryl, at the very least she could not get killed. She wasn't sure Meryl could survive losing another loved one.

The wax cooled slowly, the air was still hot though the twin suns had finally, reluctantly sunk below the horizon. The ratcheting of the typewriter told her that Meryl had finished re-writing the first report. The other four would go much faster as she simply copied the first. Meryl'd probably be done with them before she could get back from the post.

"I'm going to mail this letter," she chirped, not surprised when Meryl didn't respond. There wasn't even a hesitation in the typing. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

Meryl muttered something that might have been "A new life" or "A Mr. Stryfe" or "A big knife" or even "A chocolate pudding." It was too low to tell. She chose not to repeat any of the things she thought she might have heard, and just hesitated a second by the door before heading through, closing it gently behind her.

She waited by the closed door a moment more, but the steady typing continued, and with a sad frown, she headed down the hall of their hotel.

- . -

She barely gave the man a glance, accepting the strip of paper he offered her without looking at it. Her eyes and her brain were trained on the meters in front of her.

They were not cooperating.

"Try releasing the fifth coupling."

John didn't so much as twitch one of his massive shoulders. "It will reduce the amount of resistance, but it'll also-"

"Do it."

"No."

She smiled sweetly, hoping he could see her reflection in the glass of the monitor. "I know exactly what it will do, John. Disobey me again and you're off the project."

The control room, nestled deep in the facility, looked slightly green in the dusk. Power was flowing to the countless screens and machines steadily, but they shouldn't be seeing drops in the batteries this quickly. The suns had barely set an hour ago. They shouldn't have noted the power dip for hours. She knew the moonlight would help, since luckily all five moons would be visible for the next week or so, but they needed to find the bleed and clip it off.

And dropping the fifth coupling would tell her if it were anywhere along the first six couplings.

If it was, it meant no solar power to the control room or anywhere else until they manually re-engaged the coupling. Which would take hours, and be extremely dangerous.

Luckily, that was not her job. And it wasn't John's job, either.

This apparently occurred to him, because after a huff he entered the proper key combination.

The control room was fairly sturdily built, probably to survive if one of the Plants ever powered up out of control and blew. Not that she was sure it would have withstood it, and she was certain it wouldn't now. It was very odd to hear any outside sounds through the glass, however, so she almost jumped when she actually heard the distant ka-thunk that signaled the releasing coupling.

And, as that deafening noise would have indicated, there had been the energy leak.

There was the very distant sound of an explosion, and the room was plunged into a blue darkness. Not so much as a single LED retained power more than a few seconds.

"Out of fifty-two couplings, how did you know it was number five?"

She felt herself grin in the darkness, and leaned over his huge frame to input her password. Nothing.

"I've been workingwith Plants for a long time," she said softly. And while channeling the energy a solar panel could collect through the Plant technology was absolutely not what the original engineers had had in mind, it worked surprisingly well. Most of the same management software could at least monitor the type of energy produced and the levels, even if they were far below what a Plant should be generating. And it had been a bonus that they could use the same hardware to modify that energy into the production generators. They could generate water with sunlight. Not finished goods, and not food, but at least water.

With enough water, they could eventually terraform this sandy stone in the universe, and producing food out of energy would be as distant as the thought of growing it was now.

"Lefferts!"

They needed to get the backup generator on-line. Obviously three successful conversions had made them all a little over-confident.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Did you ever find out where that broom-head went?"

Not that his presence would have changed anything. It wasn't like Vash could magically force the cracks in a coupling to vanish. Well, she supposed he could always melt the thing to slag, but it wouldn't actually help. He usually split for his secret desert base as soon as he'd extracted the resident Plant, but he also usually returned the day after that. She was almost certain she'd seen him in town a few days ago, so she knew he was back.

Unless he'd gone on ahead to Collins? She really needed him to wait for this team, since Collins had a GeoPlant and slightly different systems –

Or maybe he was goofing off in town, stuffing himself full of donuts and playing in the street like a child. Hopefully he'd had the sense to ditch the coat, considering his old reputation was coming back with a vengeance and it was only a matter of time before someone else came after him.

Though, thanks to Bernardelli, it wasn't like the federal government would pay anyone the bounty. He was a force of Nature, all right. The kind that forced you to the restroom after eating bad salmon sandwiches.

"Y-Yes, ma'am!"

She rolled her eyes, waiting for them to become adjusted to the darkness and moonlight. "And?"

"I gave you the message, ma'am!"

Oh. She rubbed her fingers together, the forgotten slip of paper still between them.

"And I can't very well read it right now, can I?"

"Oh! Of course not, ma'am! The Bluestar Hotel said that Eriks Saverem checked out three nights ago."

She frowned at the darkness, and her team chose at that moment to kick the backup generators on-line. The green of the monitors flicked up first, followed by the overhead lights, and found her standing there, staring at the slip of paper.

It said the same thing.

Checked out? Without telling her?

Did that mean he'd already headed on to Collins, or that he was just hiding until their team finished up here? That coupling was going to take all night to replace, and then they'd need to remain an extra day to ensure the batteries took the charge properly. They were supposed to be in Collins tomorrow, but now it just didn't look like it was going to happen.

Trust that adult child to hide when she actually had something important to tell him.

"Slacker," Elizabeth grumbled, then turned back around to John. Despite his massive size, he was a fairly gentle man, and his stony face looked as though it was melting slightly into concern.

"Send down the specs. We need to get that coupling replaced. Lefferts, send a message on to Collins, addressed to Eriks Saverem. Tell him we're going to be a little late."

- . -

Meryl Stryfe glanced at the window again.

She glanced down at the book in her hands.

She glanced at the clock.

She glanced at the window again.

This was getting ridiculous.

"Dammit!" she swore aloud, flinging the light sheet off her bare legs and slamming the book down on the lumpy mattress. It was over an hour since Millie had left. It didn't take that long to mail a damn letter, and even if Millie had decided for some stupid reason to go to bar and buy a beer, usually it was just one to help her sleep. She should have been back.

But no. She was probably sitting in a bar, drowning herself. She hadn't drunk to that extent since – since he died. It was probably time.

Meryl kicked herself for the thought, yanking off her nightshirt and tossing it onto the rumpled sheets behind her. Her clothes were laid out for the morning, so she slipped into her uniform as quickly as possible, grabbing her cloak on the way out the door. She didn't expect trouble, but given how flighty the town was getting as their deadline neared . . . and Millie hadn't taken her weapon. It was still propped up in the corner where she'd left it.

Then again, she might be carrying a pair of Wolfwood's pistols. Meryl hadn't asked, and Millie hadn't volunteered, but the last time they'd accidentally collided she'd definitely felt something hard on the other girl's hip.

Of course, she'd been a little more distracted by the massive, swine-shaped man that had caused the 'colliding.' There hadn't been a need for Millie to draw, so she'd never figured out what the hard object had been. Hadn't really thought about it much.

Should have. She should have expected things to get hairy. After all, Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, was only two cities behind. Trouble was starting to run from him, sometimes arriving before he did.

Meryl trotted down the long hallway, taking the stairs two at a time. There were half a dozen bars in town, at least, and that wasn't counting the mom and pop places that weren't exactly labeled. She'd barely have time to get the other girl sober before they were supposed to be on that sand steamer.

Dammit!

Once outside, it was obvious that the tone of the town was changing. There was less laughter, and what could be heard was tight and not the kind that expressed amusement. Mothers held their little ones in a death grip, openly watching tall shadows that slunk from building to building. A pair of old men, the kind every one of the towns of Gunsmoke seemed to have, creaked softly on their rocking chairs. They'd probably seen which way Millie had headed, and probably would be happy to tell her – for a price. She considered it for a few seconds before dismissing the thought with a shake of her head.

She wasn't in the mood to be social this evening. She just wanted Millie back and in bed. She couldn't do any more work tonight, but she could bury herself in it tomorrow.

That was what she had to look forward to. That was the only reason she was still getting up in the morning.

All those years of telling herself it was the job, now maybe she finally believed it.

Meryl headed to her right, remembering passing a post office as they walked into town from the steamer port. She wasn't sure it was the closest – cities like New Phoenix usually had more than one, but it wasn't as though Millie had had any more time to wander the city than she had. Besides, usually the location of the others was printed on a flier on the board, even if no one was working the office. It was as good a starting point as any.

The night was finally starting to chill, the only warmth radiating from the sand in the street and the buildings. All five moons were out, casting a pretty substantial glow on things. There were people everywhere, finally coming out of hiding now that the night was cool. As always, she kept an ear cocked to random conversations, a habit she'd picked up long ago and one she saw no need to tarnish with disuse.

She wasn't listening for reports of Vash the Stampede, anymore, but she was still an insurance investigator.

"They say Monday that the plant's gonna get shut down-"

"-craziest damn thing you ever heard –"

"He's such a waste of carbon, Silvia! Let him get himself killed-"

"-New Johnson City's got a new one, too. Heard they weren't having such good luck though –"

". . . then just add some of those flavoring packets, and you got yerself the best damn chili you ever set your tongue afire with!"

It was only perhaps two blocks from the hotel to the post office, and she covered it quickly. The office itself didn't jut quite as far into the street as the larger, more important buildings around it. A federal bureau building loomed to one side, and a credit union sprawled on the other. Despite the shadows these buildings cast, it was easy to see that no one was standing on the low porch of the post office.

Not that she expected Millie had been waiting there for the last hour, staring at the drop chute until the magical mail fairy came to carry the letter off to Knives' paradise.

New Phoenix was one of the older settlements, and that was obvious from the way it had grown up. While the old mail building was probably the original, made of common cement and brick, the buildings surrounding it had cannibalized the space from smaller, more modest structures. If one looked closely, they would be able to see that the credit union had merely built around a shoebox-shaped structure. Probably an old general store.

She stopped at the stairs of the post office, noting the yellow light coming from inside. The bars across the teller's window segmented that light, so that as it fell across the faux wooden porch it was too divided to really brighten anything. Just enough to ruin a person's night vision.

She could always ask if he'd had any visitors in the last hour.

She checked the board first, noting the location of the other two branches in New Phoenix before walking up confidently to the window. Given the atmosphere of the town, she didn't want to be mistaken for someone sneaking, or worse.

She narrowed her eyes slightly as she stepped into the bright beam of light, squinting into the small, one-room structure. Letters and small parcels lay scattered in separately marked bins, somehow neat and orderly thought none of the bins were the same shape or even the same material. A small, backless black stool stood near the teller window, but it was quite empty.

"Hello?" she called, scanning the back wall and finding a door. It wasn't far enough back to be the door to the street behind, but it made sense they'd have a small back room for supplies and the like. The door was slightly open, but it showed only a strip of darkness. She waited several breaths, but didn't hear anything besides the hum of the overhead lights.

"Can you help me?" she tried again, projecting her voice to the far back of the room.

No one responded.

Meryl frowned, scanning the room again through the metal bars. She saw the largest bin was the one marked 'New Phoenix,' obviously for incoming mail. There were others – Inepril City looked pretty full, as did December. A very small sack, marked April, caught her attention only because it was so dingy. At first she'd thought the fabric was ivory, but with that alabaster white corner sticking out of the top of the bag, she could see now it was significantly more filthy –

Meryl stared hard at that white corner. It was brighter even than the paper she'd carefully tucked into her portfolio a little over an hour ago. She'd only seen paper that bright –

That was Millie's letter.

Millie's letter was going to April.

Millie had been here. And a teller had been here, to put the letter into the sack.

"Hello, please come out, I need to speak with you!"

She waited only a few seconds more, not expecting a reply, and turned on her heels, blinking as her eyes readjusted to the dim streets. So Millie had mailed her letter.

Where was she now?

- . -

"Any progress?"

Long legs were loosely draped across a desk strewn with metal boxes and scraps of graphing paper. The screen was quite bright in the dim room, so nothing else was readily visible but a silhouette. Only the crown of his head was visible, one more dune on the rounded hill of his chairback. His arms were nowhere to be seen, which mean he probably had them crossed across his chest.

Which meant that he wasn't happy.

And he hadn't heard the report yet.

Terry stopped hesitating, knowing that was just adding to his master's already negative mood.

"Not really. I could have copied yesterday's results and no one would be the wiser."

The dune didn't move. "I see."

"They've guaranteed that the psionic buffers are working as designed. The stimulants, however, don't seem to be doing the trick. They've moved on to human trial, but of course it's harder to judge what will be successful. They're really just using that research as a symptoms chart."

He waited for a beat, giving his master time to speak. More than anything, he hated both to interrupt and be interrupted, so it was best to break the information down into small, less than thirty second blocks in case there needed to be commentary interjected.

But his master remained silent, which was equivalent to assent to continue.

"The team dispatched to Warrens reported back – so far they haven't raised eyebrows, and can delay as long as necessary. The backup team's about an hour late for a scheduled satellite check-in."

The last piece of information was really the reason he'd reported at all. It was either very good news, or very bad news. Though, in their case, even worst-case scenario news was good news. As long as they somehow got a location, a place to start, whatever the cost in cannon fodder it would be worth it.

After all, so much had happened to the poor thing –

There was no getting around the fact that it was exactly the same as those human subjects. It was the test run, nothing more than something to build a symptoms chart with. A dress rehearsal.

For all of them.

"I see," the man repeated. "You may send that report in the usual way. I will not be needing you this evening, Terry. You should get some rest."

Terry stopped, willing his feet not to move further into the room. That was not the response he had been expecting. Nor was it welcome.

"Are you feeling ill, sir?"

A quiet sound, maybe a chuckle. "We should rest while we have the luxury to do so. I will do so as well, do not worry for me."

Terry hesitated, but when the voice didn't respond to his pause, he simply inclined his head and backed out into the hallway. He'd never fully entered the room, he usually stood in the doorjamb to prevent the automated doors from closing. They were nearly soundless; he took special pains to ensure the mechanisms worked to highest efficiency, and that included removing superfluous noise. Most people considered them silent, but his ear had long been tuned to a vibration he could not eliminate. Now he wasn't sure he would even if he could, as it told him more surely than anything when his master had entered or left his quarters.

Or when someone else had.

The doors closed softly, and he padded across the metal floors to his own quarters, just next door. He had taken his evening meal some time ago, pouring over the reports that were sent on to his master for review. Technically, it wasn't his job. In fact, he could probably be killed for it. Most of those reports were made by men far more powerful and higher-ranking than he was. In fact, he wasn't sure he hadn't been assigned this position just because a higher-up had disliked his attitude and wanted him to get killed.

He'd been his master's assistant for almost four months now. Three months longer than anyone else.

Probably in part due to his attention to detail, but he truly believed his master was now too busy to be irritated by all the tiny things in life that had previously held his attention. As his project progressed, there were far larger things to worry about. Terry was quiet, he didn't interrupt, and he did his job to the best of his ability. He prepared meals for his master when he worked late into the morning. He intercepted and edited the reports, cutting out the childish babble and bias of the information. And the typos. Fully half the officers would probably have been discharged by now just for their lack of grammar.

Bad grammar was definitely something that would irritate his master. It irritated him.

Terry curled up in the nest of spare blankets he'd made on the floor of his quarters, and idly picked up his forgotten mug of tea. As soon as he'd heard the telltale hum of the doors beside him, he'd abandoned the last few reports to update his master, and there was still work to be done.

Not that these last three contained any significantly useful information, but they should be passed on nonetheless. Even a report of no progress was still progress.

He stretched himself out, sipping the lukewarm tea before propping the mug up onto the nearby, extraordinarily uncomfortable chair. It was intended to be seat, though he preferred using it as a table. It was nearly as flat as one, and as uncomfortable. He preferred his seat on the floor. It also helped his current appearance of being extremely subservient.

Terry dragged the portable computer closer and opened one of the leftover reports, wincing at the very first sentence.

"Town are not helpful."

- . -

Author's Note: Sorry about all the OCs. It couldn't be helped, if I was sticking to the anime-verse. I do have plans to borrow one image from the manga, however. I can't find anything on the web that would indicate I'm reusing a plot out of the manga, but should this start looking like something that's already done, point me at the done product and I will merrily run in another direction. )


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in previous chapter

- . -

She cried out a little when they shoved her to the floor, accidentally biting her tongue when her knees jarred against the – rock. Maybe cement? It was harder than hard-packed sand, and it didn't feel gritty.

Weight on her shoulders forced her to sit on her legs, and the cloth bag they'd thrown over her head was suddenly torn away. Some of her hair got caught with it, and the rest had been doing nothing besides collecting static, so the sudden rush of cooler air was quickly muffled as her hair suddenly gravitated directly for her face.

Millie Thompson sputtered, shaking her head in an attempt to get it out of her eyes. Her arms were bound quite tightly behind her back, and she wished for the umpteenth time that this was first time this had happened to her. Or second. Or third. Or even fourth.

These knots were quite a bit tighter than the last, though. And her luggage and stun gun were nowhere to be seen. Then again, neither was a sand steamer, so she supposed she'd have to think of another way out of this mess.

Once she'd managed to maneuver her hair out of her eyes, she opened them to find herself staring at a wall. It was cement beneath her knees, clean-swept and wide. She had the feeling she was underground; the air was sweet-smelling and while she didn't remember being forced down stairs, there had been a long ramp involved. Wooden crates were neatly stacked against every available square inch of wall, and what wasn't covered by them displayed large maps.

She shifted her eyes slightly, taking in the maps with her peripheral vision while appearing to stare at the door across from her. One was New Phoenix, one looked a little like Hondelic, and the others she couldn't recognize. She studied the door, knowing it was the one they'd taken her into the room with. She remembered being spun 180 degrees before being forced to her knees. Whoever shoved her into the room was behind her, hand still heavily resting on her right shoulder.

She wasn't gagged, and her head still ached from the blow she must have received. She didn't remember much before the drive ended, and had no idea how she'd ended up in a truck anyway, so the headache meant that someone had hit her. Or maybe drugged her? She didn't know if there was a bump on the back of her head and until she got her hands free she supposed she'd just have to wonder.

She'd waved down the teller just as he was about to step outside for a smoke, cheerfully handed him the letter, backed up a step and considered buying some juice on her way back to -

Meryl!

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to see us just yet," a voice spoke, so suddenly she flinched. The hand on her shoulder tightened considerably, and even several moments of stillness from her didn't loosen it.

"W-who are you?"

"You're Millie Thompson, right?"

Millie hesitated, then squared her shoulders despite the painful pressure. "Yes I am! And I don't appreciate being kidnapped when-"

"I'm sorry about that," the voice interrupted smoothly. It sounded quite friendly, and honestly apologetic. "That was the only safe option to get you out of harm's way."

Millie stopped mid-sentence, her angry outburst melting like a banana split in the afternoon suns. Get out of harm's . . . ?

"What do you mean?"

She heard footsteps behind her, very soft. Maybe a light rubber sole? It would wear out terribly fast in the desert. The chief back at the Bernardelli main office wore shoes like that.

"I'm very much afraid there's a killer after you."

Her brain ground to a complete halt.

"Me?" Then, "Maybe you have the wrong Millie Thompson. I-I'm just an insurance investigator for Bernarde-"

"There's no mistake," the voice continued. It sounded a little sad. "We understand you have regular communication with a man called Mr. Knives. Is this correct?"

Knives. They knew about Knives? Or maybe just because she'd mailed the letter, and they opened and read it –

No!

Millie fought back a sudden rush of tears at the thought that they might have resealed the letter and sent it on. Knives would know that it wasn't her! He would think something awful, he wouldn't forward it on to Vash. And then poor Mr. Vash wouldn't get the letter he was expecting, and she wouldn't be allowed to send him any letters anymore –

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" She heard the lie catch in her voice, but she didn't care. If they read the letter they knew – they knew about the sisters! She bit her lip to keep silent as the footsteps seemed to come closer.

"It's okay," the voice soothed. "We're friends. I know it doesn't seem like it, but you must trust us." There was a thoughtful pause. "Of course, I can't let you see us just yet." It definitely sounded self-deprecating. "And I can't tell you where you are. It wouldn't be safe for you to know."

How could being there be any more safe than knowing exactly where she was?

"I don't blame you for being hesitant," the voice said softly, and seemed suddenly to make a decision. "I'm just going to tell you outright. Ms. Thompson, Knives is planning to kill you."

Millie gasped involuntarily, but bit down harder on her lip as questions threatened to pour out. How did they know? If he were going to kill her he certainly wouldn't do it himself, he'd send someone – and they knew that someone was after her? But if they were after her, and they couldn't find her, the first place they'd look would be –

"Where's Meryl?" She tried to steel her voice, but when she heard the echo all that came back was a mocking tone of desperation.

"Meryl? Oh – you mean Meryl Stryfe?" The tone indicated more than the words that they didn't have her. Nor did they seem to think she was important. How could they be concerned that Knives was coming to kill her and not be worried about Meryl?

What . . . ?

Millie felt her back stiffen as indignation fought down her fear. There was something not at all right about this situation.

"We have a man watching your hotel room, just in case," the voice reassured. "Your partner will be safe. She's not his target."

"Don't you touch her!" Millie almost hollered. "You're lying, and I'm not saying another word!"

The voice sighed. "Listen, Ms. Thompson." It was more authoritative. "I know we've given you no reason to trust us. We snatched you off the street and scared you quite badly, and for that I'm truly sorry. But you must understand, we did this to save your life. If Knives knew you were helping us . . . I don't dare contemplate what he would do to you."

She tried not to shake, and stared at the door again. 4.72 yarz from her current position. The hand on her shoulder was applying about fifteen pounds of pressure. The voice put the second person about 1 yarz behind her, maybe a little closer. But she was sure there were three other people in the room besides her. Where was the third person?

"I know you're intimately familiar with the Plant replacement project, and I know you've been writing letters to him and his brother, known as Vash the Stampede, for the last six months." The voice sounded almost sorry to be calling her a liar. "What I need from you is Knives' location. You were sending this last letter to April, but you sent the previous one to Sweetwater."

Millie held her breath to prevent herself from giving anything away. How had he known . . .? How long had they been following her? And if they were reading the letters, then why did Knives forward the last one on to Vash?

Who was he? Who were these people that knew so much and yet didn't know the very basics?

"Those two towns are hundreds of iles apart." The footsteps ceased, and she realized the speaker was quite close to her. "Is he on the move? Where is he now, Ms. Thompson. You have to tell us."

Millie didn't answer, and after a long pause she heard a sigh. "Please, Ms. Thompson. Now that the Plant replacement project has been proven a success, he doesn't need you anymore. Any Bernardelli agent can negotiate the contracts with the other cities. He can leave it to your partner, Meryl." The voice became very gentle. "I know this is shocking, Ms. Thompson, but he never loved you."

Millie's brain ground back to a halt again.

He never loved you.

Surely now the voice was talking . . . about Mr. Priest? How did he know about Nicholas? Why would he say something like that if he wanted her to tell him where Knives was?

She started to turn her head incredulously, and the hand on her shoulder shoved her roughly forward, snapping her head back sharply.

"There's no need for that," the voice admonished its partner sharply. "She's a victim, not an enemy."

Millie was now half-bent over her knees, and she froze there as if afraid to lean back up. "I-I'm not saying another word!" she repeated tremulously. Maybe he'd lean in, and she could headbutt him. When he stumbled back, she could roll forward and kick out the shoulder-leaner's legs, but the third person. These two had been in the truck. These two had walked her down the ramp. But she knew it in her bones there was another person in the room. If they'd just move or speak or _something –_

"I'm sorry about that," the voice apologized, and it sounded sincere. "Please, please help us, Ms. Thompson. For all our sakes."

"Who are you?" she repeated, though less demanding this time. The voice didn't sound like it belonged to a bad man.

A hesitation. "I can't tell you that. Just trust me when I tell you that I am a friend, and I don't want to see you hurt. Especially not by a – by a guy like Knives."

There was a muffled sound of joints popping. He was crouching down.

"It is imperative we find him, Ms. Thompson. He won't stop with just your death. Every human aligned with this project is in danger –"

Millie weighed her position. He did seem nice, but he had hit her. And if it was for her own good they could have untied her when they saw she was calm. She might not get another chance to overpower them, and she'd just have to bank on luck that the third person was somewhere close to where the voice had started talking from.

She hurled herself backwards, wincing as her head glanced off something hard. Not a direct hit, she thought with a sinking feeling, shifting to her left hip and rolling slightly so she could get her feet out from underneath her –

Something hot splashed into her face and eyes, and almost immediately they began to burn. She kicked out anyway, this time solidly striking braced legs. She shook her head hard, trying to sling the blinding fluid out of them, and started scooting herself towards the door. There was the heavy sound of the shoulder-pusher's body hitting the floor, and then footsteps, to her right and at least ten yarz away.

The far back corner of the room. They weren't running, so they must have a gun. She'd never get to the door before they shot her, never –

She yanked her arm up as far as it would come, frantically rubbing her eyes on her shoulder. She couldn't really get them but it was better than nothing, and finally she was able to squint the left one open –

Her vision was too blurred. The second one, the voice she'd head-butted, was still crouched down where she'd left him. She stopped scooting, frantically struggling to her feet and blinking furiously, trying to find the third shape.

She heard long strides, unhurried but quickly drawing closer. They were male, and tall, six feet at least. She cracked the other eye open as she danced backwards and made out a desk and a couple folding chairs, which had been behind where they'd forced her to kneel, and more boxes. It was a supply warehouse of some kind, and the ramp must have been so they could wheel carts or small vehicles down here to move the crates.

There was a lamp on the long table, and the light put the approaching figure into too much shadow to make out. All she could see of him was the beginning of his left ankle to the bottom of his jaw. But the shape –

That was a Vash-shape. Almost.

Her back slammed into the door and she groped around for the doorknob even as she heard herself say "Mr. Vash?"

Wouldn't he have said something by now?

Her straining fingers found the knob, and she turned it, the weight of her throwing it open and making her stumble backwards –

A hand snaked out and caught the collar of her coat, and in the soft light coming from the ramped hallway, she realized her mistake.

Of course, she thought quite calmly. He had been the third person in the room. The other two hadn't realized that he was standing in the corner the entire time.

The kneeling body – she realized now that the voice she had headbutted was quite dead – finally pitched forward, landing with a rather wet and heavy sound, and she flinched again.

The hand hauled her back into the room, and while she was grateful that he hadn't let her fall, the knife he held in his left hand didn't seem to be cutting the ropes that bound her.

It didn't seem to be cutting her, either. It looked like it was contemplating what it should be doing.

"Mr. Knives?" she whispered.

- . -

Meryl burst through the door, eyes trained on the tarnished brass coathooks by the room entrance. She willed the yellow traveling coat to be there, dusty and smoky from a night of carousing and needlessly worrying her partner –

But the two hooks were empty and forlorn. Not so much as a thread clung to the cool metal.

She glanced at her watch, though she knew well what time it was. The very last second she could remain in this hotel room and still make the sand steamer to Inepral City. Another minute's hesitation and she might as well write off the meeting she had scheduled at 5 pm.

Her gritty brain coughed on the question again. Assume Millie would catch up to her in Inepral City? Stay in New Phoenix and keep looking for her? Run to the sand steamer in case Millie was waiting for her there? Wait and do nothing?

She took a deep, calming breath. It was almost six am. Millie had gone out around seven-thirty. She'd been missing for almost twelve hours. Meryl had checked every bar in the city, including some places she were sure were not real, licensed bars. She'd blown $$80 on attempts to buy information. No one had seen her. Millie had walked out of the hotel and just disappeared.

She'd checked the gutters. She'd checked other hotels on the street, just to be sure Millie hadn't stumbled into the wrong one in a drunken stupor. She'd even checked the halls, since Millie's key wouldn't have fit any of the hotel doors but that might not have stopped her from deciding that 104 was her room anyway and just camping outside it.

If Mille had been arrested, the hotel manager would have come knocking on their door for bail money. If she had been shot, there would have been a body in the street.

There was always the chance that she was hungry, and was standing in a grocery shop with a pudding cup or in a restaurant having breakfast. There were only thirty or so places to buy food, so chances were it would be 5 pm before she'd even finished searching them all.

Meryl growled under her breath, slammed the door shut, locked it, and palmed the key as she stormed down the hallway. She was going to go back to that mail teller and find out exactly when Millie had been there and which direction she had headed off, and start there.

It was almost like old times. Except instead of following a pencil-headed moron she was following a brightly beaming one.

The hotel clerk was still hiding behind his newspaper from their last encounter, and didn't so much as flip the corner of the newspaper down to watch her stomp out of the lobby. The two blocks to the post office passed in relative quiet, as the drunks were passed out but it was still too early for the working stiffs to be doing more besides peeling their eyes open and washing up.

Millie would still be in bed, usually, though the rest of her family was probably up hours ago, hitting the fields.

Sometimes she wondered if the quiet life wasn't the better choice.

The suns were just starting to peek over the horizon, as if they remembered her mood from sunset last night and were afraid to find out if it had improved. It hasn't, she growled at them, and jumped up the two stairs to the wooden patio of the post office.

"Hello!" she bellowed, without the usual cheer or curiosity the word normally held. The teller window, which had been completely and utterly empty, was suddenly filled with a very surprised young man.

"Hello," he greeted, a little uncertainly. "I was right here, you don't have to yell –"

"Sorry," she managed, and toned her voice down just a notch. "Last night there was a woman here, who dropped off a letter about seven-thirty last night-"

The teller was a very young man, maybe eighteen, with fair hair and sandy brown eyes that were almost hidden by a multitude of freckles. He held up his hand until she stopped, his expression one of sudden understanding.

"I know, I know. The teller wasn't here. We don't know where he went, or when, but I can tell you he'll be fired if he ever reports for work again."

Meryl stopped, blinking and then looking past him as she continued talking. "Actually, I think he was here then, because he put her letter into the bag for April –"

The filthy sack that was nowhere to be seen.

The young man leaned back a little, following her eyes. "Oh, all the outgoing mail was put on the sand steamer this morning. Inepral City gets more traffic than we do, so we transfer a lot of the long distance mail to their facilities for sorting. It's probably leaving . . . " He glanced at his watch, and Meryl just sighed and waited for it.

". . . right about now."

"I know. I was supposed to be on it," she growled, surprised to find her teeth clenched and a muscle twitching in her lower left eyelid. "And so was my partner, who dropped off a letter here at 7:30. Are you telling me you have no idea where your coworker went?"

The boy shook his head. "All I know is, I was supposed to take over for him at 5:30 and he wasn't here. If you say he was here at . . ." He scratched the back of his neck in a mannerism that made her heart hurt. "How do you know the letter got dropped off if you didn't drop it off?"

So Millie and the teller were both missing.

Maybe around the same time.

And it wasn't a robbery, because no one took the mail.

"I came looking for my partner last night, and I saw her letter in the bin bound for April," she muttered. "Look, it doesn't matter. Has the local sheriff been alerted that there are two missing people?"

The kid stared at her as though she'd sprouted another head. "Look, everyone's getting out of town since they're saying the Humanoid Typhoon's going to take our Plant down. I wouldn't be surprised if he just split. The lockbox was still in the back, so I'm sure he just took the opportunity to go gambling to get a ticket out of here on that steamer."

She resisted the urge to rattle the windowbars at him. Like Millie would have split . . .

Meryl shook her head and shot a quick 'Thanks,' over her shoulder, walking out past the outcroppings of the credit union to look down the street. She'd seen a sheriff's office down another couple buildings, but he had a point. She had no motive. She had no suspects. All she had was a partner who hadn't come back to her hotel room. And it was six am. Since most drunks didn't wake till noon, she'd get laughed right out of the station if she approached them any earlier.

Idly, Meryl kicked at a clot of sand in the street, almost smiling at the far-off echo of the steamer horn as it blew its farewell to New Phoenix.

"You better be on that steamer, Millie, or so help me . . ."

The clot shot to her right, bouncing and shedding pieces of itself as it rolled back to the post office porch. Her tired, grainy eyes seemed glued to it, even after it eventually settled by a criss-crossing of faux wood support beams. How ironic would it be that Millie was sitting, bright-eyed in a reasonably comfortable cabin, maybe a little worried that her Sempai didn't seem to have made the steamer. A glint of silver caught her eye, just where the post office porch met the hard-packed earth, and she stared at it blankly for several seconds before it occurred to her what it was.

She darted over, noting the freckled face in the barred window watching her but not caring. It was half-covered in dust, but as she snapped it up and hastily brushed it off, there was no mistaking what it was.

A lighter, half-filled.

On the bottom were the initials NDW.

- . -

"Well, will you look at that."

She smirked a little at his assumed sarcasm, adjusting the switch ever so slightly to see if she could get that extra percent . . .

Ahh, and there it was.

"The coupling replacement has officially completed," she announced, more for the voice-activated recorder than anything else. They needed to document each and every quirk of these projects to give the town engineers some training. While they'd eventually be swapping out these solar plants for real reactors, until then she couldn't stretch her team to monitor every one of these power stations.

Elizabeth relaxed into the chair, rolling her head stiffly on her shoulders before slouching back, eyes closed. It had been a long time since she'd actually, personally, had to pull an all-nighter. But with one cracked coupling, there was no telling how many more could have been damaged. While she wasn't about to crawl all over the plant with an imaging device, she was the only person qualified to watch the images and determine what was acceptable wear and tear and what wasn't.

But the rest had come back clean, much to the relief of her exhausted crew, and as the suns had come up over the horizon, their dangerously depleted battery cells had perked right back up.

Bless those moons. Even the holy one.

She smiled at their cheering, the sound of relief and the smell of coffee. She couldn't give them the day off, but she could cut the crew to a quarter. After all, all the work had been done. All that was left was to make sure the batteries charged properly during the day and discharged properly that evening. She could probably get everyone on a rented bus at 2 am if things were looking good.

After all, they'd just done an exhaustive search of the plant hardware. It wasn't as if anything else could really go wrong.

Almost as soon as the thought went through her mind she bit her tongue. She hadn't said it aloud, but she might as well have.

"First rule of engineering," she murmured wryly.

She waited for it, but there was no room-shaking explosion, and she was just starting to relax when a hand gently touched her shoulder.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Oh god. She'd just had to think it, hadn't she.

"I don't care," she announced. "If the whole damn thing just sank into the sand, I don't care."

The room paused, decided that she was joking, and laughed appreciatively. But the silent presence by her side didn't vanish, and eventually she opened up her eyes and glared at him.

It was Lefferts, and he looked, if possible, worse than she felt. She really needed to give these guys a break. Maybe that coupling was a god-sent after all. They'd sleep the day away but at least it'd be sleeping.

"I have a message back from Collins."

Ah. The $$60,000,000,000 Child really had gone on ahead. That explained his absence, then.

"Glad he got it." She leaned forward wearily, flicking one of the hundreds of unlabeled toggle switches on the main board. "We're staying in town for the day, boys. Draw straws, I only need one man from every sub-team to remain. The rest of you guys, I'm begging you, please go take showers."

More laughter, and the scramble to find enough coffee stirrers to pull straws. She flicked the toggle back off and accepted the small slip of paper.

"You too, Lefferts. Get out of here."

His smile was genuine and almost cracked his face. "Thank you, ma'am!"

"Your job isn't as a messenger boy," she said softly at his departing back, and sat up properly. She'd gone soft on them, which meant tonight she'd have to crack the whip. They really hated it when she wore the scarlet dress, she'd have to dig that one out to remind them why.

"And what do you have to say for yourself?" she murmured at the paper, unfolding it and reading the single-line message.

_Delay is fine – stay until it works, and be careful! – V_

She allowed her eyes to close and threaten delicious sleep, tempting herself for almost thirty seconds before pushing it away. It was a good way to steel her resolve.

"Who's staying up here?"

No one answered, and she swiveled in the chair to find the massive form of John staring sadly at a tiny piece of plastic.

"Change of plans. I'm heading out to Collins."

His big form didn't budge, but she was starting to figure out that it really never did, and it wasn't meant as an insult to her. "I thought –"

"I'll go alone. Apparently there's a small pre-production problem that requires my . . . expertise."

Sunjy, a small, olive-skinned man she'd known practically from the cradle, was wrapping himself around a cup of coffee and looking waspish. "I will not let you go without protection, Miss Elizabeth! You'll have to take one of those buses-"

Her smile would have lit up the room if she hadn't been too tired. As it was, she was pretty sure it was still devastating. "Thank you for the concern, but I can and will take care of this myself. Please don't let the other teams know I've departed. In fact, tell them that I'm in a terrible temper."

"You are," John observed rumblingly.

Terrible didn't even cover it, she thought, the piece of paper held gently in her fingers.

Since when had Vash dropped the name 'Spot' from their communications? She'd sent one of their newer advanced teams to Collins, and to think they had the nerve to send back a response like this was – was –

She was going to tear them apart.

And then she was going to find Vash, wherever that lunkhead had run off to.

And then she was going to remind him why he called her 'Master.' Unpleasantly.

Her chief of security and old-time playmate reluctantly put down the coffee. "I'll have our tickets in twenty minutes. Do try to pack light this time, Miss Elizabeth. I'm not a thomas."

She would have argued it if she hadn't been so tired. Maybe she _was_ getting soft.

- . -

The report was brief.

_Stimulant modifications successful. Application of inhibitors successful. Full manifestation of wings imminent, if you want to watch._

Terry forwarded it only a few seconds after it had arrived, and he leapt to his feet, desperately looking for his boots.

Of course, just a wing manifestation didn't mean the entire problem was solved. Not by a longshot. And he probably should have changed that plural, since it was going to be incorrect in a few minutes. Or maybe not, actually. He couldn't recall the last time a Plant that extremely damaged had been observed. Usually they went in pristine, and the ones that had been observed on the biological level had never been reintroduced to working bulbs.

He yanked on his issued boots as the nigh-silent rumble trembled against his eardrums. His notebook was by the door, and he snatched it up and put it between his teeth as he stuffed his shirt-tail into his pants. He made sure his recorder was in his front pocket, glanced at the mirror, spat out the notebook, and squared his shoulders.

His master allowed for certain imperfections in their casual communication, but this was a major event, and he needed to be as perfect as possible.

He marched to the door, watching the left side slide away in step with his master's back. He fell in a few paces behind, careful not to match strides but to keep his current distance. This was a very private report – the few officers still in the quarter halls didn't seem especially perturbed or excited, merely nodding to their superior respectfully. The new officers still saluted.

The trip from the quarters hall to the science hall was across more than half the ship, and compartment after compartment was eaten by his commander's purposeful strides. The records indicated he'd been an impeccable officer, and nothing about his presence indicated he was anything other than calm and collected, on a routine something or other.

He couldn't give this away, not at this stage, Terry realized. Too much rode on the success of this project in a set and ambiguous time limit. They didn't really know how much time they had, but they knew the window was closing fast. The longest they projected was seven days, and this was the fifth.

There was a 30 percent chance of discovery today, and that increased by 35 percent every consecutive day thereafter. Thirty was bad enough. He didn't know if he could handle the wait from sixty to ninety.

"Has the back-up team reported yet?" his master asked quietly, not even turning his head slightly but letting the wind of his passing carry the words back.

Terry checked his notebook. "No, sir. A cleanup team was dispatched, they should have arrived about ten minutes ago. Their next communication window is scheduled in twenty minutes."

In fact, that backup team had been incommunicado for hours now. He wasn't sure what that did to the odds, but it probably wasn't anything in their favor.

The halls echoed hollowly, their coldsleep tubes long gone and nothing replacing the space they had once taken up. It gave the air a chilly feel despite the heat of the rest of the planet, and made it one of the favorite places of their resident baritone, Tony McClinton, to practice his art.

Terry couldn't recall the last time he'd heard his friend sing.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd even heard one of the enlisted whistling.

Their passage through the massive hall was uneventful, and much to Terry's relief, the next airlock took them into the proper wing of the old ship. The technicians obviously had more of a clue what was about to happen, as most of them seemed as white as their biosuits. He wondered, briefly, if his master was going to be asked to don one, but no one had anything other than greetings for them, and they were ushered into the main control room without any offers of protective gear.

Terry entered after his master, choosing the back right corner as his station. His left ear was a little better than his right, and he needed to note the conversation without seeming to be a participant of it.

Dr. Greer was in his usual place, straight-backed and solemn in the attitude-adjusting machine. The thick polymer screen before him showed the same scene it had for the past five days – the cold generation room, dimmed, with a few spotlights on the bulb to detect structural damage.

Of course, all the precautions had been taken, the majority of them sitting creepily on the underlit lab bench on the far right wall. But they didn't want to take any chances that they'd missed something. As full of Plant inhibitors as the bulb material was, it really wasn't much more shatterproof than glass. It could absorb almost any type of energy, including kinetic, but only to a point. A careless technician with a wedding band could conceivably crack it.

"I understand you've made some progress, doctor." The voice was dry and calm.

"And so I have, Commander." The enormous chair that controlled the milli-degree attitude of both the outer and inner bulbs hummed as he made some tiny adjustment, and then the salt-and-pepper head poked out, followed shortly by the rest of the man. Their main Plant engineer, Dr. David Greer, was starting to go grey. He was second generation, obviously, but everyone said he was just as sharp as the real thing.

Luckily, they didn't have to wait for third generation science. It looked like the Apocalypse was well on its way. 30 percent chance of hitting that day, even.

Terry tried to squash his thoughts. Now was not the time to be wigging out.

"I see nothing," the commander noted.

"Yes, in a moment," Dr. Greer replied absently, staring at the ceiling. An entire collage of monitors had been placed there, so he could watch all the readouts while he was in the pilot simulation-like contraption that controlled so much of the efficiency of a Plant generator. It seemed a little inconvenient if you were standing on the floor, though.

"Josephine, transfer feed B-6 to the main screen, would you?"

The largest of the screens, currently lifeless, blinked with an audible hum, and slowly a shape began to take form.

"This is the most accurate screening we can get through the bulb material," Dr. Greer noted. "In the first day the Plant effectively destroyed the cameras we'd installed, and thereafter, even in biosuits, there was a danger in introducing humans to the generator."

That was before the technicians had gotten their act together, Terry thought darkly. The entire thing had almost blown up in their faces.

"It won't be a great picture," the doctor continued dryly, still staring at the ceiling though the display on the main screen was ten times bigger, "but we should be able to see some manifestation through it anyway."

"And energy output?"

"That's the idea. We think suppression of one is causing the other."

"You're certain there is no lingering awareness causing this suppression?"

An eventual shake of the head as Dr. Greer's ever-calculating brain caught up to the fact he'd been spoken to. "No, I shouldn't think so. You'd need to talk to Dr. Shrew about that. Certainly none of the responses we've observed have been anything like the first day."

Terry waited impatiently, staring at the screen, but all he could make out was the general outline of a bulb. And that was only because he knew he was looking for it.

"Currently the Plant is having a hard time even giving off heat energy," the doctor continued. "This spectrum just renders energy, but not reflected light, so we're not going to see much unless the latest modifications were successful."

Minutes ticked by, and the six people in the room remained motionless. Terry could hear the technicians breathing as they stared at their equipment, looking for any sign of success.

Imminent apparently had a different definition in science.

Terry glanced out the main window, staring again at the large bulb. It was one of only two still intact in their ship, affectionately called New Kennedy, after their supposed launch site. If anything happened to this bulb, they'd have to start swapping the resident Plant for the new ones, and they'd be in no better shape than all those cities.

It was too dark in the cold generation chamber to see anything. The spotlights hit from all sides, but they weren't particularly bright, and there was barely a silhouette of the inner bulb, let alone any indication there was actually a Plant inside. He stared a few more seconds before looking back at the main monitor.

"If we had to stop here, how do you rate the success of containment?"

Greer swallowed noisily, finally relaxing his neck and looking, a little reluctantly, at the main screen.

"Again, a question for Dr. Shrew. I suppose the inhibiting dosages have a reasonable range, and traditional suppressants would do in a pinch. We can sent those through modifications already made, so even if there was no positive result besides containment, we could at least maintain it indefinitely. But in that case, this would be no different from a very large, well-monitored sleep chamber. It would be a serious waste of resources, and in that case I'd suggest a coldsleep chamber."

He sounded a little affronted, and the commander laughed shortly.

"No offense intended, doctor."

"Aah. Aah aah aah . . ."

A tiny movement in the depths of the flatpanel monitor, possibly static.

"You can do it," the doctor crooned at the screen. "That's the way . . ."

Terry reminded himself to breathe.

Tiny pixilation in the monitor, so vague and undefined –

The door beside Terry slid open, and a few technicians entered the room reverently. "Dr. Greer-"

"I see it. I see it, come on . . ."

There was an unmistakable flash, almost like a scythe reaching out of the swirling void. It was gone almost as soon as it had been visible, and Terry watched one of the technicians start. The second one crowded the first, trying to get far enough into the control booth to let the door close behind him.

Not that the door would protect them if this all went awry. If things were looking too dangerous, they had already laid explosive charges at the base of the inner bulb. The Plant would be incinerated instantly, and everyone was hoping the external bulb could absorb most of that wave of energy. Even if it exploded as well, the control room was designed for that kind of thing.

Or at least, it had been about a hundred and fifty years ago.

Another flash of white, this one significantly brighter than the last.

"That's the way," Dr. Greer murmured, as though talking to a hesitantly approaching child. "Keep trying –"

Beside the main monitor, various red, flat bars were starting to respond. With every flash, yellow would jump across those bars. Terry knew, from being in the other generation room, that the bars were supposed to be green, but considering they'd seen no such activity from this Plant in the last five days, yellow probably meant success.

"I've never seen a manifestation take this long," the first technician whispered to the second. Terry casually moved a stride closer to them, as if trying to get a better view of the screen.

"This one's been fighting every step," the other breathed. "Guess it just didn't know any other way."

"I wish the library had more stock footage, so we had something to compare to –"

Another flash, this one taking up a full corner of the screen. It remained for several seconds, flickering –

And outside the clear polymer, the bulb buzzed gently, lightening ever so softly.

Terry looked back at the bars, noting they were still yellow, dipping and growing but never completely extinguishing. The round ball of white on the bottom of the screen slowly steadied, flickering dangerously but never disappearing.

"There you go," Dr. Greer congratulated softly. "There's my Angel."

The shape changed, a tiny triangle of light pushing out from the roundness. It remained quite narrow, but grew longer steadily, widening at the base until it seemed to flick out, and then it was readily obvious what it was.

"It'll never fly," Dr. Greer broke the silence, regretfully. "Just the one wing, so we won't be able to test the new elastics." His rapt expression crumbled into something more mournful. "My poor, poor Angel."

The meters were still in the yellow, but they were steadying out. The bulb was glowing softly but steadily. It looked about the same brightness as a Plant under sedation for maintenance.

The commander watched for several more minutes, but outside of a few flicks of that oddly-shaped wing, the Plant never moved.

"That feels much better, doesn't it," Dr. Greer continued, as though none of them were there. As if the Plant could hear him. "No more moving around, you're finally comfortable in there."

It seemed to Terry as though the stillness was unnatural, but the two technicians were finally starting to relax, and Dr. Greer didn't seem at all perturbed. In fact, he looked relieved.

"I would call this a success," he finally announced, turning to face the commander. "Let's give this one a little time to recuperate, and then I'll have a better idea of generation levels and sustaining times."

The commander nodded, still watching the image. "Well done, doctor."

- . -


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Very little furthering of the plot. : )

- . -

"Good timing," he snarled softly, dragging her within inches of his face. She leaned as far back as her tightly-gripped collar would allow her, and wondered if perhaps he was going to strangle her instead of – of –

Those poor men.

Millions Knives stared at her, a slight expression of incredulousness crossing his sharp features. Handsome, almost exactly like Vash's except the mole on his cheek was absent. But that wasn't really the difference in their faces, she decided. It was how they chose to wear them.

His grip on her coat collar tightened significantly, quite effectively and immediately cutting off her air. Her arms, still bound tightly behind her back, were useless, and despite the fact that she was nearly as tall as he was her struggling feet barely brushed the floor. Leaning away from him just increased the pressure on her windpipe. She felt her lips move in an attempt to get air, and he continued to stare at her.

So he was going to strangle her. She was going to die.

Meryl was going to be so worried when she didn't get back to the hotel room.

She wasn't sure how long she hung there, waiting for some sign from him that he was going to let go. There was neither amusement nor pity in his eyes, and at some point instinct pointed out that she needed air and just staring at him wasn't going to get it for her. Millie twisted her head from side to side in a futile effort to loosen the coat fabric, and it felt as though she were struggling against a rock face. Even throwing all her weight, his fist and arm never moved. She realized at some point, a little foggily, that useless struggling was using up her available oxygen faster, and willed her panicking brain to stop.

Think, Millie!

There was something her Big Big Sister had told her to do, if she should ever find herself in a fight with a man, particularly one that was bigger than her. It would certainly make Mr. Knives madder than he already was, but at least she was by the door, and could run –

She screwed up her face, and with the last of her strength she kicked out, aiming for his right shin.

And somehow her foot just slid by, glancing off the inside of his calf. He'd dodged, or blocked, or something –

"It's useless," he murmured to her, in an oddly gentle voice. "Do you see it, little spider?"

She felt herself kick out again, half-heartedly, and she wasn't even sure she made contact with him at all. He didn't lower her, didn't release her. With a start she realized her peripheral vision was gone, and that was why the room suddenly seemed so dark –

"This is your end," he continued, in the same tone of voice. It was penetrating, intense, it cut through the fog of her brain even as everything else grew further away. "This is the moment when you died."

He raised his left hand and suddenly she was flying through the air, and she'd seen the blade flash, and she felt pressure and release and falling, she was falling and –

And she landed. Hard. She felt herself tumbling, over and over, and it took ages for her to realize that she was actually lying quite still.

Millie gasped, choking on her own saliva and coughing and all the while fighting for air. Her throat was swollen, it felt like she couldn't get enough to breathe. Bright spots danced in front of her eyes, blinding her, and her blood roared in her ears. She barely felt the hard cement beneath her, and she spread her fingers wide in an effort to make the room stop spinning. She had to find the floor, she had to run –

She could spread her fingers.

Her arms weren't behind her. They were beside her.

Millie continued to gasp, blinking hard. She was lying on her back.

Her arms were splayed out at her sides, clinging to the floor.

The knife –

He'd cut the ropes.

She dared to pick up her head, taking deeper breaths.

He didn't kill her.

She wasn't dead.

He'd thrown her quite a distance, she thought dazedly, realizing she'd rolled almost back to the spot they'd made her kneel. They were still there, lying just level with her head.

There was blood everywhere. She'd landed nearly in it, and when she tried to sit up her hair tugged tackily at her scalp. Knives was standing close by, gaze now on the men he had killed, and she realized, belatedly, that it had been the nice voice's blood that had splashed across her face.

She hastily wiped at her face and eyes, refusing to look at her sleeves. It was their blood.

Knives had killed them.

He'd promised Vash he wouldn't kill. He'd promised –

"W-why?" Her voice rasped unfamiliarly in her ears.

His eyes, when they flickered to her, were no more animated than they had been as they'd watched her suffocating. They were cold, cold enough to make her shiver.

"To make you understand," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You are powerless. Helpless. I allow you to live because I am in need of a supplicant, and I have neither the patience nor the time to train a more useful one."

He held her gaze only a moment longer before turning away disgustedly and glaring down at the body at his feet. It was the nice voice, still balanced on his knees but bent forward, face plastered grotesquely to the cement floor. She blinked back a sudden flood of tears, and balled the fabric of her sleeves into her fists.

"You promised! You promised Mr. Vash you wouldn't hurt anyone else!"

Knives extended a long, graceful leg and kicked the body upright, letting it tip backwards before crouching beside it. He didn't respond, distastefully reaching into the man's jacket. His hand jerked suddenly, and she heard a cloth cord snap. Whatever the object was, it was completely enclosed in his palm, and he stared at it unblinkingly for a moment. Then he continued searching the man's clothing.

Millie dared to sit up straighter, tentatively rubbing her chafed throat. She was sure it would be bruised, but she could probably cover it with her shirt collar and tie. Swallowing was painful but possible, and it was getting easier by the minute.

"You didn't have to kill him." She didn't even see a weapon on the body. No gun. It wasn't as if he could have hurt Mr. Knives. Could have fought back.

His eyes flashed, and his smile held everything but mirth. "I killed him because of your ineffective struggles."

She watched him straighten, and he held up a pen –

No. Not a pen. It was . . . something else. Narrow, sheathed in a bright, shiny silver metal, about eight iches long. It looked menacing between his fingers, as though it wasn't comfortable with his touch.

"Give me your arm," he instructed, watching her with those pale blue eyes.

Why would he . . . ? Millie tried to quiet her breathing a little, and stared a little harder at the object.

It wasn't a pen at all. It was a syringe.

But it wasn't like any syringe she'd ever seen. They had been glass, with a large needle and lines etched on the sides to measure the drugs inside. This was . . . almost beautiful. The needle cover was almost as narrow as most of the bores of the needles she'd seen, and as he rotated it, she could see that it was not quite full of a clear fluid.

Perhaps it was the drug he'd used to incapacitate her in town?

Knives started towards her, and Millie found herself unconsciously scooting away.

"I would have been satisfied to hear more information, but your pitiful attempt at escape would have led to my discovery. His blood is on your hands. And everywhere else," he added with a note of disgust. For the first time, his eyes reflected some kind of emotion.

"I told you to give me your arm."

Each stride he took was equivalent to three of her scoots, but it didn't matter how little time the movement was gaining her. Did he know what was in that syringe? Or was he testing it on her? What if it was -

His next stride planted his foot firmly on the tail of her coat as it trailed between her heels, effectively stopping her retreat.

"I won't keep repeating myself, spider."

Millie could only stare up at him. She was shaking so badly she wouldn't have been able to pull her arm out of her sleeve even if she'd wanted to.

He moved so quickly. Like Mr. Vash when she'd accidentally knocked a glass from the bar once. He was towering above her and then his hand was clamped around her jaw, forcing her head back. She yelped, reflexively trying to push him away, but the grip on her face was unbreakable. She felt a crushing weight on her chest, pinning her down, and with a jarring sting she realized the needle was in her already bruised neck.

Millie whimpered as the drug burned into her skin, and then she was released with a rough shake. He straightened, tossing the used syringe aside and glaring down at her.

"When did you first see these humans?"

She almost couldn't bring herself to look at him. His shove had pushed her onto her back, and she rolled carefully to her side, lightly brushing the spot he'd injected. Her skin felt hot to the touch, but the burn was dissipating.

What if it was . . .?

"I-I've never seen them before," she heard herself whisper. "One of them was working in the post office, and I went to send my letter –"

"Before then," he snapped. "They were following you, idiot. Didn't you notice them?"

His voice seemed to echo oddly. It didn't fit the room at all.

"No." Her voice was echoing very differently from his. It sounded like she was in a closet, and he was in a huge concert hall. "He wasn't at the post office in Collins. There was a girl working there."

The girl had been very nice, but a little harried. It had been a Friday, so all the business-class mail had been coming in and she'd been one man down, trying to get it all sorted herself. She'd accepted it with a smile, though, staring at the thick envelope curiously, and she'd had to stretch to get it to the bin for Sweetwater. Her uniform had been a lot like the Bernardelli one, she remembered thinking, with the started white button-down shirt. Only hers didn't include a tie, and the top button was undone to make it cooler. She'd remembered wishing sometimes that the Chief would let them blouse out the shirts like that, but then it occurred to her that her Big Little Sister would call that unprofessional –

Millie started back when she realized that Knives was still so close to her. He was very close, closer than she remembered, and he was touching her –

No. He was hurting her.

She tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let her. He crushed her head between his hands, like he was trying to squish her face into a smaller shape, and his icy blue eyes were stabbing into hers.

"S-stop," she heard herself say in the closet. But he was too far away to hear her.

The sand smelled slightly different in Collins because of the enormous aquifers that ran beneath the bedrock. She remembered thinking it was so odd that the smell was probably humidity, and it would have been everywhere on Earth. Meryl had told her she was crazy, and the sand smelled just the same as everywhere else.

The envelope felt fat between her fingers, and she smiled as she caught the teller's eye.

"Hi! I need to mail this letter to Sweetwater – can I do that here?"

"Just a second –" The haphazard stack of parcels the girl was trying to handle tipped dangerously, and her dark blue eyes narrowed as though she were threatening the mail in her head. "Argh!" she finally declared, letting go and yanking a mail sack out of a pile as quickly as she could. The parcel tower tipped, but she got the canvas sack opened just in time, and they poured in with a little puff of dust.

"Good timing!" Millie chirped, and the girl flashed her a smile that seemed rare on her serious face. She flicked at her hair, was sticking wetly to her sweating neck, and Millie noticed her uniform wasn't far from the Bernardelli standard. Her white button-down shirt was probably made by the same uniform company, although it looked much cooler and more casual without the red tie and the fact that the top three buttons were unfastened. It didn't expose anything it shouldn't, and actually made the apparel seem stylish.

Millie continued smiling as she imagined her Big Little Sister in the kitchen, hands on her hips.

"You can't dress like that and look professional! When you're at work you should be working," she'd admonished, gesturing at Millie's shirt. "You need to iron that shirt, and make sure it's always tucked in!"

"Thanks! I get a lot of practice," the teller admitted, making a face as she hefted the now-full sack to the ground. Then she dusted off her hands and held one out through the bars. "Sweetwater? We can do that. Probably take about four days, unless you wanted to express it?"

"Oh, no thank you, that won't be necessary!" she'd laughed a little too loudly, shaking both her head and her hands. "Regular post will be just fine."

She wasn't sure what Knives would do if a human messenger required him to sign for it. Or if there was a sticker on it other than a stamp. She didn't want to give him any reason to distrust her, not when everything was going so well.

The girl gave her an odd look, but smiled at her bright expression. "Okay. I'll make sure it goes out tonight." She remained on the stool, stretching for a far, very small box. She had to wedge her feet under the counter in front of her to prevent the stool from tipping, and the open collar stretched. A dark strap of something – oh, she was wearing a pendant on a cord. Millie caught a glimpse of a brass corner before she politely averted her eyes, watching the envelope tip just from the girl's outstretched fingertips into the recycled Dim Jim box that was clumsily marked out and replaced with the word "SweetWater."

Millie gasped as the images disappeared, and she was staring at Mr. Knives again.

The cold anger in his eyes was fading, and his face was frowning. She shook her head slightly, trying to shake off his hands, and he tightened his grip on her face with an irritated shake.

"Be still," he commanded, and his voice swelled in her head like a too-near sand steamer whistle.

And then he hurt her again.

She heard a voice in another closet cry out, but she didn't know where they were and she couldn't get to them. She was sitting next to Meryl, being jostled like the other passengers and watching Collins fade into the horizon and –

The hotel clerk handed her a key. "You'll be staying in room 104, it's just to the right of the stairs." She tried not to look too crestfallen when Meryl snatched it out of her hand –

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir, but you can understand our position." Meryl was on a roll, seated and smiling but with that edge to her voice. Millie sat back and tried to look tough and supportive. "While we do insure against acts of Nature and Vash the Stampede has been accepted as the first humanoid disaster, we do not insure businesses that do not adhere to strict maintenance regulations from sandstorms, either. If you choose not to take these standard precautions, your policy will not cover damage done to your Plant by –"

"I don't care, Millie!" The snapping was nothing new, and Millie ignored it. "Of course you do! Vash is two cities behind us! He's asked us not to make him out as such a dangerous man –"

With a supreme effort, Millie forced her eyes closed, and the hotel room faded back to concrete and crates.

She felt herself gasping, as though he'd been choking her again, and her head felt like lead. She pried her eyes open with effort, and tried to focus on the Plant in front of her. He was swimming in and out of focus, and he looked –

Surprised?

Then he released her, and she was falling again-

- . -

Meryl stared at the sunlight crawling across the floor, watching its slow progress towards afternoon. It had encountered the lighter some time ago, and the play of reflected light on the walls to her right seemed to shift faster than the sunlight as it crept across the coffee table.

She never would have left it.

She never would have gotten on the sand steamer without it.

Even though she'd been on the scene within an hour of the crime, she'd found no clues. She'd looked all over town for anything suspicious and found nothing. She'd even tried to buy information, without success.

There were no leads to follow. And she couldn't simply wait. Unlike Vash, who left a trail of destruction but usually little of his own blood, the next time she heard a stranger talk about Millie it would be in reference to the dead body found desiccated in the desert just outside of town.

She couldn't wait for word.

New Phoenix was an older city. There were all kinds of nooks and crannies fugitives could hole themselves up in. And all the ones that did would have taken the lockbox from the post office. Since the teller obviously had a key to the back room, the most likely scenario involved putting a gun to Millie's head, demanding the lockbox, then killing both Millie and the teller. And there wasn't any blood.

There wasn't anything at all. Nothing but Wolfwood's lighter.

Someone had been after Millie. Or maybe the teller. Or maybe on her way back she'd witnessed something she shouldn't have –

Which meant she was already dead, and it was just a matter of time until her body turned up.

Meryl stared imploringly at the lighter. She remembered the conversation like it had been hours ago.

"Thanks." Vash looked significantly more relaxed than he had when they'd first charged in, but then again, Knives appeared to be unconscious instead of screaming that he was going to kill him. She could see why one put him more at ease than the other.

She just nodded, gathering up the breakfast dishes that Millie hadn't managed. They'd broken things up into smaller plates since they hadn't been sure how much Knives could eat. One of his wounds was in his stomach, and she wasn't sure he could take solid food at all. All the food was gone; whether it had been too much for Knives and Vash had simply helped himself, it was impossible to tell. They'd have to remember to keep serving things this way, though.

At least until Knives could actually sit up and eat. Then it might be best to put that sixth bullethole in his forehead.

Meryl mentally swiped at herself for the thought, hiding it with a bright smile. But Vash wasn't looking at her; his eyes were following the sounds of Millie trotting down the hall, and they were infinitely sad.

She found herself pausing, just watching him. Some part of her had hoped she'd never see that emotion in his eyes ever again. This was supposed to be the end of his suffering. He had beaten Knives. It looked like he really had expected that this one act would solve all his problems, but it was becoming more readily apparent that he'd realized his mistake.

"I couldn't carry both of them," he admitted quietly, and the eyes shifted to her. They were still unspeakably sad.

Both of . . . ?

"I know she wanted to keep it, but it's buried in the desert now," he continued miserably. "We burned all the plants. We destroyed all of it."

She froze, unsure of what to do, and the barest smile graced his features. It didn't touch above his nostrils.

Wolfwood's cross. He was talking about Nicholas' cross.

"Did it help you?" she asked, honestly surprised to hear her own voice. Had she just said something that stupid out loud?

And oddly, the smile crawled all the way up to his eyes. Almost.

"It did, actually." There was a little life in his voice. "Although Wolfwood had to point out that it was right next to me."

Meryl just stood there, two bowls and two glasses held in her arms, and he slouched in the reading chair, his feet propped up on Knives' bed. He was looking through her, now, and that was familiar too.

"I could have sworn he was really there. Maybe . . ." He let it trail off, and she watched him carefully assemble his mask again.

"He didn't have to call me such a mean name, either," he quipped, his eyebrows wrinkling in mock aggravation, and she sighed on cue.

Now she wished that perverted, heart-breaker of a preacher would talk to her, like he'd talked to Vash.

"You were in love with her," she growled at the lighter. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do!"

The reflected light winked at her.

Just like that asshole would have done.

Meryl dropped her head to the back of the couch and contemplated sleeping. She had been awake now for over twenty hours, and short of waiting in the hotel room for Millie to miraculously escape her situation and come bouncing back in, she couldn't think of anything else to do. Every different type of city paper lay in her lap, on the coffee table, even on the floor as she'd searched the obituaries, the local news, the weather, for any indication of anything unusual.

No sudden raises or lowerings of crime, or at least nothing that couldn't be traced back to stress regarding the impending Plant project. No gangs had been terrorizing the city, it was too big for that –

Meryl blinked. Was it really that simple?

But no. If there were townsfolk that believed kidnapping them would stop the Plant switchover then they had every chance in the world to kidnap her last night, too. She'd been wandering all over the city making all kinds of fuss. Even Millie could have found her last night, if she'd been looking.

"Aauurrgggh!"

She swiped the newspapers off her lap in irritation, rubbing her eyes until the spots almost blinded her. She needed to either sleep, or to do something. This sitting around waiting was driving her crazy!

The scattered papers rustled softly to the floor, settling with the hiss of not-quite-paper to add to the mess already peppered around her feet. The paper proclaiming "Death of Suns Imminent?" was the last to fall, and rather spitefully brushed against a strip of her exposed leg, lightly slicing her skin.

She flinched back with a hiss, and her retreating foot cracked against the leg of the coffee table. Meryl gritted her teeth to prevent swearing again, watching as even more papers and the lighter toppled off the table.

Great. A real mess to go with the symbolic one.

Meryl rubbed her aching foot, glaring down at the papers until she found the lighter. It had landed on top of an image of a bulb, almost directly in the middle as though it wanted nothing better than to light something up.

Meryl almost smiled. She wondered if the device missed his constant lighting up as much as Millie probably did.

Oh, Millie. Please don't be dead.

That lighter brought back so many memories of bars, for her. That was when she saw it, more often than not on the end of an entire pack of chain-smoked cigarettes. Less frequently it could be found in the middle of the table, surrounded by double dollars in a poker or chess pool. It was most at home in the hands of someone sometimes too drunk to accurately light the crumpled sticks of near-paper and almost-tobacco.

Or someone who was just acting too drunk.

Funny how Wolfwood always seemed to be blonde when she thought about it like that.

For a while, she'd really hated him for what he'd done to Millie. He could have had any woman he wanted, and just like he acted drunk, he could have acted indecisive, vulnerable. He could have just manipulated her between the sheets because he knew it was his last chance before his own partner shot him down in the street.

She thought of Millie and her yellow pajamas, curled up on top of his bed, clutching her knees to her chest and crying that she wasn't going to move, that he told her to wait for him.

Told her he'd be back.

Lied as easily as he'd lied about everything else.

But he hadn't come back. Not really.

He'd turned right back around and snuck away in the night without having the guts to tell her himself that he'd sold his soul to his brother to save a few humans trapped on a sandy rock, and it was just better for everyone if he lived what promised to be a very violent life next to the murdering maniac that had hired Wolfwood to kill him –

She frowned at her thoughts.

Funny how ranting about Wolfwood's shortcomings always brought her back to his.

She released her still-throbbing foot after a few moments, taking a few deep breaths to gather her composure. Millie was many things, but dead wasn't one of them. If she could get out of the mess she was in, she would. But until then, she needed help.

And the one person Meryl could trust to find trouble, no matter how well hidden, was Vash the Stampede.

Dammit.

She leaned over, snatching up the lighter and catching the word 'Collins' under the bulb image. Of course. Collins was the next town to get the solar plant installed, the fifth city to be approached for the project. As far as she knew, the Plant was still there, though the pre-production would have finished so it was only a matter of time before Vash was there to extract the Plant.

If she could catch him before then –

But Millie had said in her letter that Vash was two cities behind them. That would put him in Warrens.

Of course, he'd sent that letter days ago. And he certainly wasn't in New Phoenix, so –

Meryl left the papers where they were, pocketing the lighter and heading for her shoes. She was completely packed and out the door in less than ten minutes, and one of the papers fluttered a listless goodbye as the door slammed behind her.

The one person, in all the world, she was forbidden from asking for help.

She was forbidden from talking to him at all.

Meryl bought the ticket in a daze, waiting for the bus without noticing the sweat running down her back.

Nothing had shocked her quite like that morning. Having Millie, of all people, crying while telling her in the strangest, steady voice that they'd reached a compromise. Knives agreed not to wipe out the human race, and in return Vash was going to use his influence to negotiate freedom for the Plants.

And they weren't allowed to have any personal contact with him. Just letters.

And just from Millie.

Apparently Knives had made this stipulation in person. She'd never forget the look on Millie's face as she'd repeated it. Like she was remembering how someone else's lips looked when they were saying the words.

No personal contact.

What would Knives do, if he found out?

She doubted he would care Millie was missing. She doubted Vash would be allowed to help her even look, Knives had him on such a short leash. The way Millie made it sound, Knives spent all his time cultivating flowers and playing games with his newly freed and happy Plant sisters, but when she tried to match it up to the man that had made his brother –

Made his brother into Vash.

It just didn't work.

She wasn't supposed to care, dammit.

What if Vash didn't offer to help? What if he refused outright? What if he wouldn't even speak to her?

What if she couldn't speak to him?

- . -

Beep.

John pried an eye open and stared at the board. Green lights blinked back innocently.

He let it close again.

Silence.

He wished the chairs were bigger. He knew he was bigger than most people, and he was less willingly mobile than most of them. It took a lot of energy to move him around, and he preferred not to waste it. Nothing was nicer than remaining perfectly still, even if one was wide awake. It was hard to do, and helped him clear his mind.

Focus was needed on this job. They were experimenting with extremely 'primitive' technology and extremely 'advanced' technology, and making them work together almost seamlessly. Considering the engineers that had designed the Plant structures had never intended their use with solar power, the fact that it worked at all was probably nothing short of a miracle.

And in his experience, miracles needed pretty close monitoring.

Although, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. Plants made bulbs glow. It was a yellow color, not a white color, so it wasn't unlike the sun. And that light, at least most of it, was absorbed by the bulb and sent to the generations where water, food, or goods were produced. Of course, Plants gave off many other kinds of energy. Kinetic, magnetic, electric, even kinds that physics didn't have any way to explain.

Funny how they could collect it but not explain it.

The control room had an excellent view of the bulb, and he stared at it. The first one they'd left intact. Elizabeth hadn't been happy about that, but there'd been no reason to dismantle this one. It was unlikely that the Plants Vash freed would ever wind up back in those bulbs, but that was obviously what she was thinking. That someday, if they left bulbs intact, someone would try to fill them again.

And after seeing what he saw in Warrens, he was behind her one hundred percent.

It wasn't necessarily anyone's fault. The bulbs didn't make it easy to see what was inside. There were two of 'em in there, and all you usually saw was a shape, and sometimes an arm or leg or –

Or something else.

He'd never put it together in his head that Plants were really alive. They weren't portrayed that way in the books, in the classes –

But there was no damn doubt that the thing that gunman'd been carrying in that brown blanket of his was as alive as his little boy.

She'd had eyes, screwed up against the already dimmed maintenance lights. Eyebrows, cheekbones, a small, bow-shaped mouth that was stretched thin in pain.

She might not have known what was going on, but she sure as hell knew it had hurt.

Wasn't a doubt it was a she, either.

Wasn't a doubt she was alive.

Made you want to break every damn bulb you saw, thinking about that fragile, feathered woman in the brown blanket.

And the look on Vash's face . . . it was an odd line of work for a gunman to be in, John supposed, but it was a damn good one. They had the suns, might as well use 'em for something other than sunburn.

They really needed to figure out a way to get that energy to concentrate itself enough to produce simple goods, though. The basic foodstuffs problem was solved, but it would be nice if they could produce leather, chain, tires. It just took a concentrated burst that they couldn't quite maintain –

Beep.

He pried his eyes open again, watching the green lights.

Once was a glitch. Twice was a problem.

John finally picked up his head, glancing to his right at another array. They, too, showed green where the lights actually indicated activity at all. Above him, the monitors all reflected back expected power levels –

Except that one.

It was green, but borderline, and he sat and stared at it. And stared.

And stared.

It flickered into yellow for a moment, then back into green.

Beep.

But that was impossible . . .

John moved with a speed that would have visibly startled Elizabeth, up and across the room before his chair cushion had the time to suck air back into itself. That monitor was the power concentration in the backup battery, and it should have been about half-way charged. Not discharging.

He glared out the window, staring at the small maintenance shed beneath the main bulb. It had been placed there specifically to feed energy back into the bulb during a Last Run, but they'd converted it along with everything else. The door was closed and he could see the tiny speck that represented the padlock.

So if it was still locked . . . but they'd been all over that thing last night trying to get it up when the coupling had blown.

He reached above his head, flicking a toggle without even looking to make sure it was the right one. "Josh? You down on ground?"

He flicked it back, watching. It didn't take long for an overalled back to slouch its way out of the shade of the bulb and hit the comm. box.

"Yeah. Whaddaya want."

"Check on the backup battery. It's discharging."

He could see the small shape of Josh Walters staring up at the control booth.

"The hell it is."

John frowned and flicked the switch. "Check it."

Josh turned away from the comm. box, shaking his head, and after his first step the shed went up in massive, silent blue flames.

John just stared as the alarms started clanging, watching the Josh-shape jump back. Once he was certain it was still moving and generally alive, he flicked the switch next to the one he'd used previously.

"All personnel, explosion in backup battery shed. All hands, report in fire gear."

What the hell was going on?

- . -

**Author's Notes:** I promise significant plot updates in the next chapter. Really.

And Inkydoo and Alaena? You have no idea how much your fb made me grin! I really appreciate your comments, and let me know if you remember where that typo was.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer in previous chapter.

- . -

Collins was not a town you really visited unless you had to.

It wasn't just the impending Plant closing, which since Hondelic had caused mayhem no matter how reassuring they'd been to the current mayor or city council. It hadn't been the greatest town even before then. Maybe it was because the sheriff was older than God. Maybe it was because the mayor was a drunk that never left his offices, too afraid of his wife to even go home.

She often wondered how they kept getting re-elected, term after term, but in the end, it was probably because the town liked it that way.

Meryl winced at the memory of their 'meeting.' Rarely had she met another human being that made her skin want to crawl off her bones and scuttle out the door. He'd agreed simply because Millie, in a surprisingly heated voice, had started berating him from everything between the state of his clothes to his consumption of alcohol. It was really her loud voice echoing inside his booze-riddled head that had secured permission of the Plant upgrade.

She guessed maybe it wasn't really out of character for Millie – apparently he had about six children that he probably hadn't seen for five years.

Oh, Millie.

She sighed softly, glancing up at the sky. The suns burned there just as they had the day before, and the day before that. It was about four o'clock, the beginning of the supper hour, and her stomach reminded her rather gurglingly that she hadn't eaten since that bag of pretzels at the bus stop more than eight hours ago.

Her eyes had stopped reminding her that she hadn't slept, having given it up when they saw the suns were up and deciding that it was a lost cause. She was sure she didn't look her best, but that didn't matter.

Maybe it would make the idiot feel guilty.

Meryl Stryfe looked down the main street of town, ending in the clean-picked remains of wreckage, with one glowing, yellow bulb visible above all of it.

So the Plant was still here. That meant Vash hadn't left town yet.

With a little less energy than she would have liked, she started down the street, lugging her suitcase behind her. Part of her wanted to check into a hotel just to dump her things, but she supposed she could always leave them with the guard at the Plant. It would be one of Elizabeth's security detail, and while she hadn't met all of them she knew her name and the close relationship between the engineering teams and insurance brokers like Bernardelli would get her in the door.

It occurred to her that she really didn't know what she was going to say to him.

Hey, you thomas-kissing, promise-breaking, flea-ridden, alcohol-swilling, broom-headed moron, long time no see. If you're not too terribly busy, can you help me find Millie? It sort of rolled off the tongue, but even in her head it wasn't satisfying enough. Even if she followed it up by boxing his ears, it wouldn't do the trick. Wouldn't make her feel any better.

And there was still the lingering doubt about Knives. She wasn't sure what breaking the 'rules' he'd laid down really meant. Did it violate the entire contract, or did it simply make her fair game? How were Vash and Knives getting along these days, anyway? Millie made it sound like they were starting to rekindle their brotherly relationship, but Millie also made it sound like Knives snuggled kittens.

And since she'd turned down the many offers to read the letters herself, she really had no grasp on what Vash was really writing. And there was a chance Vash was just telling Millie what she wanted to hear. He could put a positive spin on almost anything, and he knew how it would trouble the tall girl to know how miserable he was.

And she hoped he _was_ miserable. Damn him!

She glared at the dust puffing around her feet, finding that easier to watch than the Plant, which seemed just as far ahead of her as it had five minutes ago. The walk across town was long and hot, and all she wanted water and a good dinner and a bed. And all of it was going to have to wait.

Maybe longer than tonight. If she really did find Vash, they had to get going as quickly as possible. She wasn't sure Millie was still in New Phoenix, which meant someone could have kidnapped her onto that steamer bound for Inepral City, and from there –

She'd be very hard to follow if she ended up more than two towns away.

Meryl stopped her brain from pursuing that further. She'd gone over it, again and again and again. Millie might have been on the sand steamer anyway. Even though her things were still being held at the hotel in New Phoenix, along with their room. She might have come around in a bar and just run for the steamer, thinking they could have her things sent on later. She might have been pacing up and down worrying about the fact that Meryl herself hadn't ended up on the sand steamer. She could be safe and sound in Inepral City, readying herself to sit down and have the meeting with the city council there.

She probably should have gotten on the steamer, and at least checked before she'd come here. Why had she done such a stupid, impulsive thing? How much of a fool would she be if Millie was safe and sound and she endangered Vash by tracking him down?

Meryl moaned. After all this, the Chief was going to _kill_ her. She needed to send on a report and let him know why they were about to fall behind schedule . . . in a way, actually, getting that from Elizabeth could at least mask this mistake in judgment for a sudden concern after hearing rumors that she was getting behind –

Of course, that was nothing more than a lie. But it wouldn't be the first one she'd put into a report.

Meryl glanced back up at the Plant, faintly mollified to see it seemed closer. It was probably only an ile from the bus stop to the facility, but in the heat of the late afternoon it might as well have been five. Sweat was dripping down her face, and her earrings, when they brushed against her jaw, were hot to the touch. She considered tossing down the heavy traveling cloak, but for some reason the derringers made her feel better.

Particularly in Collins. If she planned to spend the night, she needed to be in her hotel before nightfall. And even then, she needed to pick a hotel without a bar in the lobby.

And even then, she might not get a good night's sleep. Though if her headache was any indication, she was going to sleep like the dead no matter what happened. Vash could destroy the entire city with his Angel Arm and she'd probably sleep right through it, as the walls vaporized-

A cold shiver ran through her, and the suns couldn't touch that ice.

It was Knives. He'd done something to her Vash, and she was never going to get him back.

The Vash she'd followed, she'd observed all those years, he'd never used that thing. Not on purpose. Maybe in his fight with Knives, but he'd never gotten that specific. But then again, how else could they have 'destroyed everything' the way he said they'd done? It wasn't terrifying to her that he could actually – make it happen, make it form, without being forced by Knives or his main lackey.

It was terrifying that he had chosen to.

And that he had chosen to do it in front of humans. Humans he didn't know. Humans that didn't know him.

She supposed it was slightly better than the idea of him standing in the middle of Hondelic and making his announcement. At least he'd had the decency to approach only the town council. And the sheriff. And he'd happened to interrupt their third appeal of the decision, as well.

It might have been above and beyond, but their orders from Bernardelli had included not allowing any town to say no. When Hondelic said no, she and Millie had kept at it. One of their evening meetings, which had made about as much progress as the previous two, had been interrupted by a polite knock, a polite apology.

A statement that if they did not agree, he would destroy the city and take the Plant anyway.

And then a demonstration of his willingness to carry out that threat.

It took him less than two minutes to accomplish what they'd spent a week attempting. He hadn't discharged a fiftieth of the blast that had destroyed Augusta. Just enough to take the roof off the building, and every building neighboring it for about an eighth of an ile.

And then one of his not-smiles, and a murmured "Whoops." Like he accidentally farted or something.

He'd been lucky, she growled back at her stunned memory. Lucky the sheriff had been too appalled by what he was seeing to fire. Lucky the council had been so sure of the three deputies, just outside the door, sure they'd come in the moment they ordered and shoot the gunman dead. Lucky it didn't take him very long to gather enough energy to do what he'd done.

Any longer and he would have been shot.

And she would have been the one to do it.

They'd agreed instantly, and even allowed him to leave, long after he'd transformed it back into his arm. He'd even had the gall to offer that same hand for shaking.

That was something she wasn't sure she'd ever seen Vash do. Humiliate a beaten foe.

That was what frightened her the most.

He never looked at them. Not at Millie, not at her. There'd been a glance in their general direction, an acknowledgement that 'representatives of Bernardelli' were there to protect the town, and should be listened to. But no eye contact. They'd been reduced to armed strangers, to be noted and kept track of but nothing more.

She wasn't sure, actually, that he'd known she was so close to drawing. She wasn't sure he was even paying her that much attention, considering he'd had the sheriff and all three deputies staring at him, guns drawn and shaking too badly to really calculate where the bullets would fly should they discharge.

She wasn't sure, looking back, how close she had been either.

And that was the man – no, the Plant, very obviously having revealed himself as a non-human – that she was about to approach in an effort to track down Millie.

Meryl Stryfe, what are you thinking?

But her feet had taken her, very loyally, to the foot of the Plant facility, and she was already attempting a smile at the two guards that stepped out of a temperature-controlled booth at her approach. Both were wearing the EF logos, which meant Elizabeth's team hadn't yet pulled out to leave running the altered power plant to the locals.

Of course she hadn't. There was still a Plant in that bulb.

"All the hotels are behind you, honey," one offered, not returning her smile.

She made a face. Funny. "My name is Meryl Stryfe. I represent the Bernardelli Insurance company and I've come here to inspect the facilities and speak with the lead engineer. Can you tell me who that is?"

The second one made a very odd face, the kind a person made when they had just taken a drink and then laughed, and were debating whether to try to swallow the liquid or spit it out. The first one raised an eyebrow at her.

"If you're Bernardelli, I'd expect you to know that," he drawled. Neither one got out of her way.

Meryl felt her lower eyelid start twitching again. "I'm really not certain if Elizabeth is here or still in Warrens, but given that this facility still seems to be running off a Plant instead of the solar panels, I'm certain she will be fairly soon."

The second one was starting to turn an odd shade of puce.

The first one opened his mouth again, but the quirk of his lips told her he was just going to give her more backtalk.

"Just get out of my way and let me do my job. What's wrong with you?" The latter was directed at the second guard, whose badge identified him as Tallow, Milton. Under her fiery glare he subsided, but not much.

"You look like you're in about the same mood she is," he finally managed, before bursting into gales of laughter.

The first officer didn't so much as glance at his partner. "You might not want to speak with the lead engineer tonight, Ms. Insurance Agent. You might want to turn yourself around and find a hotel for the evening. This town gets pretty rough around pretty girls."

Meryl wondered if the veins were standing out on her forehead or not. "Are you denying me entrance to a Bernardelli-contracted facility?"

Tallows, Milton still wasn't fully recovered, and Meryl didn't see what was so damn funny. So Elizabeth was having a bad day. That would make two of them. Between them, Vash didn't stand a chance.

The first one grudgingly stepped aside. "Of course not, Ms. Stryfe." Ah, he remembered. "Would you like us to store your things until your inspection is completed for the evening?"

His voice was still heavily laden with sarcasm, but his attitude shift surprised her. She was about to smile when she realized this probably would result in something unpleasant for her. What was going on . . . ?

"That would be lovely," she ground from between clenched teeth. "I will come and collect it when my inspection is finished."

"Do you need an escort to the main control room?" Tallow, Milton looked as though he were about to suffocate.

"I'll be fine. Thank you for the concern."

The first officer leaned out exaggeratedly and accepted the luggage handle, and she huffed by him without another word. What the hell was with those guys? Was it something in the water?

Even in the harsh light of the late afternoon sun, the Plant seemed unusually cold. Empty. There wasn't a soul in sight. She put a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the glare as she studied the plant more closely. The solar panels were mostly laid out and mounted, but there were still two pallets of them wrapped beside the receiving docks, as though they'd just been taken off the sand steamer and were awaiting installation. Were they extras?

She continued underneath the main bulb towards the entrance elevator, noting the amount of dangling cable and disconnected hosepipe. She'd never seen a pre-production Plant in this kind of disarray. It looked as though everyone had dropped what they were doing and fled. She almost jumped as a cable slapped the metal framing above her head, and she kept her gaze on that gently buzzing Bulb.

She couldn't see anything inside, but she almost never had.

Was Vash on his way? But why would the pre-production teams be afraid of him?

Had something happened . . . ?

She hurried over to the elevator, waiting impatiently for the car to trundle down the shaft. When the doors finally parted, she hopped on, her cloak clanking slightly as it impacted the metal doors. She hit the button labeled CR and waited. The doors teased her, closing very slowly as though sore from their impact with her derringers. And then it trundled up to the top.

Was it quiet because Vash was in the process of extracting the Plant? He wouldn't have time to help her, in that case; he'd have to get his sister back to Knives as soon as possible. She wasn't sure how he was even able to get the Plants to survive outside their bulbs at all. It was said they existed partially in another dimension, and they'd blacken and die if they were taken out of the bulbs. That was the reason for Last Runs. But maybe that was another piece of folklore designed to make everyone feel less guilty about imprisoning and killing them.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was a Plant, too? She was pretty fuzzy on whether the Plant 'sisters' Knives always referred to were exactly like those two, or significantly different. Obviously they were female, but did they have skin? Or feathers? Did they have wings or arms? Or both? Did they have the same capability of firing an Angel Arm?

Not for the first time, she wondered if all Knives was doing was gathering up a Plant army to make the human extermination that much easier, and to overpower Vash.

She wondered if Vash wondered the same thing.

She wondered if Vash even cared, anymore.

Maybe he agreed.

The doors finally opened, showing her the wide polymer window, slightly tinted against the lights bulbs could produce, and thus offering a little protection from the glaring suns. Fully the entire pre-process team was standing in the control room; it was so full there wasn't elbow room, let alone breathing room. The back row turned to look at her, their expressions one of dread before they became simply curious.

Dread? Who did they think she was going to be?

"Did something about 4 o'clock confuse you?" a cool, feminine voice asked, and Meryl turned towards it.

Though she employed many tall, large men for these teams, Elizabeth still managed to be visible over them. Whether she was actually standing on something or was just wearing huge heels was a mystery, but her face and throat were quite visible from the elevator. Swallowing nervously, and not sure why she was, she stepped off the elevator.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she offered apologetically. "I'm here to speak with you when you have a moment –"

"Wait there," she replied, just as coolly as before, and returned to glaring at the assembled men.

She cowed them. There was no other word for it. They might have been capable of breaking her in half physically, but they were terrified of her. She was exquisitely dressed this evening, her makeup impeccable. The eyeshadow she'd chosen made her eyes seem a little more almond-shaped than usual, and her shade of lipstick perfectly matched the crimson collar.

Oh. The red dress.

Meryl almost winced when she heard the elevator doors slide shut behind her. She stepped back until she was leaning on them and tried not to make a sound.

She wasn't sure what they'd done, but this team was in for it.

"Why are there two full pallets of solar panels in the loading dock?"

No one dared say a word. She made eye contact with each and every one of them, stretching out the uncomfortable silence further.

"No one knows? Robert, aren't you in charge of inventory?" She pinned him with a look. "Is it an overstock? Did Central screw up and send us too many panels for this facility?"

Roberts clearly knew better than to stay silent when formally addressed.

"It ain't no mistake, ma'am," he started. His voice sounded feeble. "It'll only take us a few hours to get those panels up-"

"That's a relief, because I was supposed to have been here about fifteen of them ago," she interrupted him. "Tell me, can you travel through time? How is it you planned on getting all the pre-production work done on schedule if you have not yet completed it?"

No one dared say a word.

She raked her gaze over the assembled men again. "What? Almost eighteen hours behind, and nothing to say? No excuses, gentlemen?"

Meryl closed her eyes when the next voice that spoke dared to have an angry edge to it. "We've done the best we could-"

"Lee, isn't it?"

Her uncanny way of remembering the names of her teams was almost legendary, and the young man swallowed loudly. "Yes, ma'am."

"I hand-picked this team of engineers and technicians." Still cool, still in control. "I know full well that their best is significantly better than eighteen hours behind schedule. That leads me to believe this team has not been doing its best. Do you have an theories on why that might be, Lee?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Meryl opened her eyes in shock. She could not recall the last time she'd seen one of Elizabeth's engineers respond to her like that.

Elizabeth, for her part, looked completely unruffled. "Well, then I suggest you report them."

Lee took a deep breath. "Well, ma'am, there's the angling engine that got sand in the carbine, and the secondary generator anchoring that came down and almost took out a whole row of panels. Then there was the compressed gas line that sprung a leak, and –"

"Look, miss, we knew you was gonna be mad," another broke in, "but it's like this place is cursed!"

"Or the town's sabotaging us," another offered. "Carter says he's doubled patrols and seen nobody, but there's no way that line punctured itself."

"The anchoring got checked two days before it gave. Ain't no way it happened on accident –"

"Enough." She held up a hand and got instant silence. Meryl agreed with the interruption; she couldn't let this group get out of hand. Now that they were opening up they were sounding spooked.

Was the town sabotaging them? They couldn't let that rumor get out. If the other towns caught wind that that kind of interference was tolerated, or Vash –

He'd have to make another example. He wouldn't have a choice. Not after Hondelic.

"Why were none of these accidents reported?"

This time she had eyes only for her foreman, a burly, short man with a temper to match. He refused to look her in the eye, and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"We thought you'd take us off the project," he finally muttered.

"You're right. I would have," she agreed. "Anyone who cannot guarantee the safety of their crew and their site has no business being a foreman for this union. You are immediately relieved of your position. I'll deal with you later." The last sounded so ominous it made Meryl wonder exactly what it meant.

"For the rest of you," and the room seemed to snap-to, "saying one site is cursed is condemning all the others. Millions of people died on these sites. We are standing and working on the graves of those that died in the Great Fall. Every engineer has seen something or heard something they can't explain. But never once, in all the stories I have heard and all that I have seen, have I ever heard of those spirits interfering with the crews of a Plant.

"They want these towns to succeed. These Plants provide power, food and water and goods for those few souls that survived. I have heard stories of couplings shattering feet from working crews and not one soul being touched by the shrapnel. I have seen with my own eyes an entire Plant powering down of its own volition after a crewmember was trapped inside the main generator with the bulb."

Funny the spin she could put on her attempt to murder Vash.

"If you are dealing with sabotage, you are dealing with the human variety," she continued. "And that will be stopped as of right now. I want detailed reports on exactly what happened, when, how, and the result. I want them in my hand in an hour. The rest of the subteams – I don't want to see a single panel unmounted by the time I'm done analyzing those reports.

"Johnson, Jenski, Lee remain. Everyone else is dismissed."

There was a sudden, mad rush of bodies right towards her, and Meryl yelped and scooted to her right as far as the crush of bodies would allow. Many wouldn't wait for the elevator doors to even open, despite the fact the car was still at the top of the shaft. In a matter of moments, the only sounds in the control room were the creaking wires that lowered the elevator car and the thundering of workboots down the main stairwell.

Johnson was a lanky man Meryl thought she recognized from a previous Plant inspection. When he caught her curious look and smiled, she was certain he recognized her. Lee was the young man that had had the guts to speak up, so that left Jenski as the foreman.

He still wouldn't look at her, and now that the room had mostly cleared out, Meryl got a good look at her.

The impeccable makeup was hiding a little bit of puffiness beneath her eyes, and her statuesque figure seemed a little less coiled than usual. Still, the crimson satin dress clung to her like paint, and it accentuated everything about her that made other women jealous. She stood, tall and imposing and at the same time graceful, and her eyes said as clearly as words that she knew everything that was going on around her and she was not pleased.

"Lee."

His head actually popped up to look at her.

"Thank you for revealing the truth to me," she said, in a more conversational tone. "Do you think the sabotage is being done by the town, or internally?"

He visibly started at her insinuation, but when her expression didn't change, he seemed to gather his courage.

"They know an awful lot about Plant systems," he offered. "Everything that's been done hasn't destroyed the main Plant infrastructure. It all looked to damage the changes, but not the working generators. If it's accidental, we've been lucky."

She paused as she digested that. "Have you noticed any problems interacting with the security detail that was assigned to this team?"

Meryl almost opened her mouth at that, but instead bit her tongue. They may well, in their obnoxious and man-like way, have been trying to help her avoid a confrontation with an irate Elizabeth. And this was deeply concerning to her as a Bernardelli agent. The current emergency with Millie aside, this would need to be dealt with, and fast.

"No ma'am," he said quickly. "They've been as concerned about this as the crew. We've even had off-duty guys hang out and try to keep an eye on things."

Elizabeth turned an icy glare on the foremen. "That is not an acceptable way to continue productively," she murmured. "It is your responsibility to see that the off-duty men are off-duty. How long has this been going on?"

Jenski finally looked at her, but only for a moment. "Three days," he admitted. "It occurred to me they might be getting tired, making mistakes. But you don't accidentally puncture a high-pressure gas line and not notice."

She stared at him a long time. "No, you don't," she agreed suddenly. "This should have been reported to me two days ago, Jenski –"

"I thought the guys could handle it!" he suddenly exploded, as though he'd been holding it in the whole time. "It was the first time you trusted this team with an unsupervised pre-production change. I didn't want . . . any mistakes I made to make the boys look bad."

"We all agreed," Lee volunteered, but Elizabeth didn't look at him. "He even asked us-"

"Shaddup, Lee," the foreman growled. "Miss Elizabeth don't want to hear it. It's my damn fault, and I'll take the blame."

"It's an oversight I can't ignore," she finally announced

And Jenski quietly shuffled over the stairwell. He said nothing as he pulled it open, and they listened to his heavy footsteps before the door closed behind him.

Meryl looked back at Elizabeth, shocked. Was that a dismissal? What had she just missed . . . ?

But Elizabeth looked as though she'd wiped her hands of that particular problem. "Draw up your own reports of all the incidents, Lee. Look at them from the perspective of what kind of knowledge would have to have been required to get the damage done, and what tools." He nodded, and immediately also headed over to the stairwell door.

Then her gaze fell on Johnson. All he did was nod. He had taken a seat at the main control board some time ago, and now he fell back to it, looking oblivious to them in only a few seconds of keystrokes.

"Meryl Stryfe. It's been too long."

The taller woman strode over, and Meryl nodded. "I'm sorry I interrupted you – the security detail didn't tell me you had called a meeting."

The other woman's smile was wry. "I'm not surprised. I'm sorry you had to stay for it. Of course, as soon as the reports are in I'll file them with Bernardelli –"

Meryl waved it aside. "That's actually not why I'm here, though I'd gladly forward them on to the home office." She stepped closer to the taller woman, glancing at Johnson. Elizabeth just nodded.

"I've known him a long time."

Up close it was obvious that Elizabeth had had a bad day. The dark makeup, she saw now, was not only to make her look more formidable but also to cover the fact that she was fatigued. There were bags beneath her eyes, and lines around her mouth Meryl wasn't sure she'd ever seen before.

"Are you all right?"

The engineer, one of the top Plant engineers in the world, just shook her head. "I will be once I get this problem straightened out." Her voice was uncharacteristically tired, and Meryl wondered at it.

"How are things in Warrens? I take it you've finished there on schedule?"

The engineer regarded her, as though she were a truck and the other woman was considering her odds of getting across a stretch of desert with her. "There was a problem," she said, keeping her voice low. "At the time I chalked it up to wear and tear, but now . . ."

Meryl knew what she was thinking. If there was already some kind of underground resistance to the Plant upgrades, and it was organized enough to hit two difference cities at once –

"Just one?" Given the problems the crew here had just listed, maybe it really was just a coincidence.

The engineer nodded. "That I know of. I left John Watkins in charge in Warrens, and he'll get word to me if anything else slows them down." She seemed to shake herself, and some of the arrogant woman Meryl knew well came back to the fore. "What can I do for you this evening, Ms. Stryfe?"

A coldness slashed through her gut as she contemplated her next words, and all the unknowns the meeting had driven from the fore of her mind came rushing back. What if . . .

Meryl tried to make her voice sound light. "I was actually looking for . . Eriks. Is he in Collins?"

Elizabeth looked nonplussed. "I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly?"

Meryl met her eyes squarely. "You did. I'm afraid there's a problem that I might need his assistance with."

A raised eyebrow. "Inepral City was less than receptive, I take it."

She made a face. "Actually, I was supposed to be meeting with their city council about now."

Elizabeth blinked at her. "Inepral City is about a hundred and eighty iles from here."

She hadn't counted on resistance from Elizabeth, and couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice. "I'm well aware of that! This problem couldn't wait. Is he here, or not?"

" . . . I don't think so." The engineer's voice was very . . . careful. "I sent him a message letting him know of the problem in Warrens, but I think it was Jenski that replied."

Meryl digested that. It didn't matter how Elizabeth knew it hadn't been Vash to satellite wire back the response. They probably had their own system, just like Millie did. Considering how closely Elizabeth had to work with Vash and Knives both, she wasn't surprised that Elizabeth was also allowed to communicate with him.

That just left her out of the loop.

She squashed down on the jealous pangs, because of course there was nothing to be jealous about. She didn't care. It was just extremely inopportune that the idiot had chosen now of all times to be scarce.

"Meryl, if I'm not mistaken –"

"I know," she growled. "I wouldn't ask if there was any other way."

The engineer gestured at one of the control room seats, and Meryl shook her head. "No, thank you. Do you have any idea how I can contact him?"

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Perhaps the direct route was the best. "Millie's gone missing."

The engineer's face shifted slightly, and the expression was foreign to Meryl. "Millie Thompson? Your partner?"

"How many other Millies do you know?" she snapped. "Yes, Millie Thompson. Last night. She went out to mail a letter and never came back."

Meryl cast a look towards Johnson, but he seemed even more absorbed than before. Possibly he was accustomed to hearing things he wasn't supposed to, and had learned to tune them out for the greater good.

"What are you doing here, then?" Elizabeth hissed at her. "Why aren't you tearing that city apart-"

"I already did. She's not there." Meryl chose to leave out the option that Millie had boarded the sand steamer and was safe and sound in Inepral City. She'd come this far, and for some reason the fact that Vash wasn't where Elizabeth thought he ought to be worried her.

"What do you mean-"

"I mean she's not there!" She took a deep breath, and tried again. "I mean I spent the entire night looking for her. She's either dead or she's in serious trouble, and I thought –"

"That trouble gravitates to Vash," Elizabeth finished. She, too, glanced at Johnson.

"Take a break," she called, and the man immediately locked down his council and headed towards the door on the far end of the room. Meryl wasn't sure where it lead, but he didn't even glance their way as he shouldered open the door.

She waited for it to shut before she looked back towards Meryl. "I can't find Vash," she said without preamble. "He was in Warrens three days ago. That's the last time I saw him. He should have been in town the entire time, but we couldn't find him. I thought he might have come ahead here, but no one's seen him."

Meryl blinked. "What do mean, no one's seen him? Like he's hiding in a donut shop somewhere, or –"

"I thought of that too." She leaned against a console and sighed. "But since he didn't get my message he should have been here yesterday to extract the Plant. The crew said they haven't seen him either."

And there was no doubt the Plant had not been extracted.

Meryl's brain hacked back some of the conversation she'd overheard, and she paused. "Didn't your foreman say the problems here started three days ago?"

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "You're saying you think his disappearance and the sabotage is related?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But it's a little strange. Do you . . . ever write him letters?"

Elizabeth looked at Meryl as if she'd just admitted to cutting the compressed gas line herself. "No," she said flatly. "I talk to him in person. It would be too difficult to complete this work without face to face communication."

So Elizabeth had even more leeway than Millie . . .

"And no, I don't know where his 'home' is," she growled, mostly to herself. "I've only spoken to Knives twice, and I can't say I enjoyed the interaction either time. I have no way of communicating with him, or confirming that Vash is with him."

"Oh! That's not what I was thinking," she said hastily. She couldn't imagine knocking on Knives' door. Hi, we know this location is secret and teeming with Plants that hate humans, and that humans are strictly forbidden, but we were just wondering if Vash is home? "I was just thinking, Millie was mailing Vash a letter when she . . . she disappeared."

It was so hard to say. Like it wasn't true. Like she hadn't disappeared, and there was another verb that was correct and unrelated.

"You think he picked her up and they took off for some reason?" Elizabeth mused. "No offense, but Millie's not the sharpest tool in the shed."

"She's more perceptive than most people give her credit for."

"No need to be so defensive. I was just stating a fact."

"The fact," Meryl fought hard to keep her voice level, "is that they're both missing. You're having problems at this plant and in Warrens. And we have no idea where to find either one."

They chewed on that in silence for a while.

"Do you think Vash knew about the sabotaging?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "He'd have mentioned it to me. He knows what's riding on this project."

That thought sobered Meryl significantly. How much danger had she just put him in by coming here?

"Has he . . . been acting unusual lately?"

The engineer snorted. "I don't know that anything he does can be classified as 'usual.' He's still –" She broke off suddenly. "Of course, you know. If he's been sending Millie letters."

Meryl could have screamed. Instead, she balled her hands into fists behind her back and tried to laugh. "Of course. I was just thinking, maybe he thought an organized group of saboteurs was something he needed to take care of himself." In case Knives would consider it failing.

The taller woman sighed deeply. "Maybe," she finally responded. "But if he can't handle it in three days' time, it's obviously a bigger problem than we thought."

She stood up brusquely, straightening the gown's full skirt before glancing inquiringly at Meryl. "Are you coming?"

Meryl blinked. "Coming . . . ?"

"To the hotel? We need to get a rental truck, unless you brought a vehicle?"

The engineer was already striding briskly across the control room, towards the mystery door on the far side.

"Wait! Why do we –"

"Isn't it obvious?" Meryl could have choked that smug sound right out of her voice. "If Vash really did stupidly go to confront the saboteurs, and he's not back yet, he needs our help. When we find him, we find Millie Thompson."

She pulled open the far door. "Johnson!"

He ambled out, obviously having not been far from the door, and Elizabeth looked slightly chagrined for having bellowed.

"Your break's over."

He just nodded, taking his position again with a nod at Meryl.

Meryl was still trying to understand what Elizabeth was thinking. "I'm sorry, I don't-"

Elizabeth grabbed Meryl's arm in a vicegrip and steered her towards the elevator. "Millie disappeared when she was sending Vash a letter. If this group is organized enough to hit our solar plants in both Warrens and Collins, there's no reason to think they haven't already begun preparations in New Phoenix. It's not like the plant upgrades are secrets. They might have been afraid she'd found them out and was passing information to Eriks."

She slipped back into the other name as easily as she'd slip out of her gown. Johnson, for his part, never so much as twitched in their direction.

"But why the truck? Do you know where they are?"

She shook her head, propelling them through the opening elevator doors. "You do. Where was Millie sending that letter? Do you know?"

"April. But, Elizabeth, I'm pretty sure the letters go through Knives before they –"

The engineer shook her head. "There's no way Knives'd walk up to a human town to pick up a letter from a post office. Besides, I don't think he's left their home since we pulled that data out of the wreckage he found two weeks ago."

Meryl wasn't making the connection. Maybe they both needed a good night's sleep. "But how does that mean that Vash and Millie will be there -?"

"They won't." The car trundled down the shaft, catching occasionally as the little motor struggled with the counterweight. "But some of the saboteurs will. They'll need to intercept the letter."

"But, Elizabeth, they didn't take the letter. They left it at the post office in New Phoenix. And the post office teller went missing the same night," she added, wincing slightly when the engineer glared at her.

"Any other details you're omitting?" she asked coldly.

"The letter is going to Inepral City to be resorted. They could always get it there."

"They won't. They'll let the letter arrive in April."

The elevator doors opened, and Elizabeth stepped out first. Meryl followed, slightly off-put that she had to take a stride and a half for every one of the taller engineer's. Like a cat trailing after its owner's thomas.

The odd mental image made something click in her brain.

"To get the messenger. Because whoever picks up the letter might have suspicions as well."

Elizabeth nodded curtly. "We need to beat that letter to April. To do that, we need our own vehicle."

Meryl started to half-jog as Elizabeth started striding like she meant it. They were approaching the guardhouse, and Meryl wasn't surprised to see both the officers appear at their door.

Johnson had warned them.

"But how do you know they didn't read it when they had access to it in New Phoenix? They'd know there was nothing in it."

"They can't open it without damaging the envelope."

Meryl gaped at her. If Elizabeth didn't send letters like Millie did, how would she . . . ?

The tall brunette jerked her head in signal to the security guards, and they began to approach.

"If I know Knives, he won't use a product of a Plant to carry the messages. He's using real paper. Real paper tears. Whoever picked up the letter in April would realize it had been previously opened, and it might scare them off or warn them. They won't risk it."

Because there was no reason to think that the receiver – Knives, in this case – had any hard evidence. Just suspicions. A pre-opened letter would prove their existence.

And suddenly Meryl realized why they were hurrying.

"Locate us a dependable vehicle, capable of traveling several hundred iles," she called, when Milton was close enough. He immediately turned on his heels, though the other officer continued to approach.

If they didn't beat the letter to April, and something happened to whoever Knives had running his errands, then Knives would know.

Knives would know that something was going wrong with Vash's plan.

And that was something they needed to prevent at all costs.

"What if the ones in April won't tell us what they've done with Millie and Vash?"

Elizabeth nodded towards the guard still approaching them. "Then they'll tell us where to find someone who will."

The first guard just looked at her, and she paused in her powerwalking to eye him up and down. "You're exhausted, Aaron."

"No less than you, Miss Elizabeth," he replied. He glanced once at Meryl, and it was same. From her head to her feet. Like she was a piece of fruit at market. "And Ms. Insurance Agent as well. Sunjy gave me a run-down."

She just nodded. "Plot me the fastest trip between here and April."

He nodded, turning on his heels. The women followed him into the guardhouse, where the biggest, most complete map of Gunsmoke she'd ever seen hung on the wall.

She couldn't help but gape at it, and Elizabeth laughed.

"This was a gift from his friend Doc," she explained. "They charted most of the planet from air, so their maps are far more accurate than land surveys."

He located April, then Collins, and frowned. "Cut here to Inepral City," and he tapped its location on the map, "and then across the desert to Mei." Another tap, and he eyeballed the distance meter on the bottom of the map. "Then south about eighty iles."

"That's not the most direct path."

He almost smiled. Meryl just stared at him. Was this the same guy that had given her such a hard time? He was almost human in her presence. "It is if you don't want to run out of fuel. You're taking a light vehicle. Four passengers, not a lot of room for extras. We'll find something that won't overheat or we'll rig a cooling system."

She put a hand lightly on his arm, guiding it off the map so she could get a better look. "As thoughtful as that is, I'm afraid we don't have time for that."

"All four of us haven't slept in twenty-four hours, from the look," he pointed out.

Four?

Sunjy, her tired brain remembered. Two security folks, her, and Elizabeth.

She shook her head. "No time. We'll drive it straight, in shifts."

He shook his head, but it was obviously not in disagreement. More like resignation.

"You're going to have to change clothes, Miss Elizabeth."

Meryl stared at the map, marking all the cities. She'd never seen a map like this. You could see how the fleet was downed, how the cities were grouped, and the massive amount of desert she didn't even know existed. Every single settlement was on perhaps one-fifth of the planet's surface. The rest was just desert.

Knives and his Plants could be anywhere out there. Why April? It was a small settlement, and just beside it were two that had sprung up around aquifers. She stared at the proposed drive, and couldn't help a sudden, low laugh.

She'd interrupted the conversation, and just shook her head at a slightly questioning look from Elizabeth.

"It's nothing. I've driven the desert between Inepral City and Mei. He's right, there's not much out there."

But there had been, once. In the desert between Inepral City and Mei they'd found an almost unconscious preacher slouched in the shadow of a huge cross.

"You could have just said," she muttered softly, to no one in particular.

- . -

**Author's Notes**: I told you I'd further the plot! And I lied. ; ) It was necessary, though. Considering this is a Trigun fic I suppose I should include Vash at some point, huh. Not that he has much to say at the moment, but next chapter should revolve around him pretty significantly. Thank you guys for your comments! They're very helpful, especially considering I'm sadly manga-less.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Lots of plot furthering will ensue!

- . -

"Are you so afraid of a little pronoun? Afraid it will turn your precious resource into a flesh and blood person?"

He kept his voice under control with the experience eighty years had taught him, just watching her.

Nothing in her mannerisms indicated the comment had struck home. She let the overhead lights reflect off the lenses of her glasses, quite effectively hiding her eyes from him. Her stature never changed, the slightly stooped but rigid set of her shoulders the same of researchers across the planet.

He had no doubt she was what she said she was. A doctor. Well-trained. Possibly one taken out of cold-sleep in the past forty or so years. Possibly actually trained on Earth.

Hopeless in her ideology.

"Simply assigning a pronoun because of outward gender appearances is irresponsible," she said after a time. "There's no evidence that the Plants cannot change their gender appearance at will, and little on the psychological or physiological level to suggest it's more than simply outward appearance. None of the Plants that have been dissected had anything resembling a human uterus, so calling them female would be a misnomer."

He closed his eyes. Any of the Plants that had been dissected . . . "You're not dealing with a first generation Plant," and he enunciated each word carefully. "You're dealing with a man. A Plant raised by humans, a Plant that mimics human response. You performed the surgeries, and you still deny that he has a human's physiology?"

The other doctor laid her polymer clipboard down very carefully on the lab bench that separated them. "I understand you have a certain . . . sentimental attachment to this particular Plant. It's not unusual –"

"This particular Plant had saved your skin three times before you even came out of cold-sleep, doctor," he snapped. "And he has a name, not a designated number!"

"It had a designated number when it was manifested on the primary ship," she replied coldly, clearly working hard to control her temper. He'd long since abandoned any desire to do the same. "And those records are lost. So unless you want me to pull that Plant out of its bulb and take it apart on the molecular level, I suggest you start cooperating!"

He leaned back in his chair, regarding the white lenses set on that thin face. "Dr. Shrew, isn't it?"

She took a seat across from him, leaning her elbows on the lab bench that separated them. Other than the security guard at the door there was no other living thing in the room with them. But it teemed with activity. The white walls and metallic floor reflected the colors from the many monitors installed around the room, their readouts flickering and numbers scrolling by. To his left, a variety of fluid-filled tubes bubbled and murmured, keeping their O2 to N concentrations exactly optimal. Behind him, where his sleeping pallet lay, the soft sounds of some lost Earth music played in a gentle suggestion of sleep.

He hadn't slept since they'd forcibly sedated him. He could sleep when he was dead.

He wasn't sure that was going to be much longer, anyway. For any of them.

"Ah, so now it's my name instead of unkind substitutions." She was almost smiling.

"I was just wondering if you knew anything about your namesake," he continued mildly. "It's really quite fitting, you see, and I wasn't certain you were in on the joke."

She flipped to the third page on her clipboard, gracefully pulling a pen out of her coat pocket. Clearly she was disappointed with something, and he just couldn't imagine what it could possibly be.

She was about as likely to get help out of him as she was to swallow a cold-sleep chamber.

"A small family of rodent found on Earth. I'm well aware."

"Actually, shrews weren't rodents," he corrected quietly. "They differed in many ways. Most notably, they were born with their permanent teeth, and missing their zygomatic bone. I couldn't help but note your rather unusual facial structure."

She continued to smile that polite, insincere smile.

"Of course, that in itself is merely an insult, and not one of the better ones I've tossed your way." His voice was very dry, as though he were in a lecture. "The irony comes in the fact that many members of the shrew family, despite being mammals, were venomous."

Her smiled broadened. "I see." Those odd front teeth were showing. "If there's nothing else, you could always try wasting our time with nursery rhymes."

"I can't tell you what I don't know," he responded, folding his hands on the bench. "I know what Vash told me, and I'm afraid it was nothing you'd consider relevant. He told me about emotions, his love for the humans that raised him and his sadness at the Great Fall."

She flipped to the fourth page, analyzing something behind her white glasses. "Its output levels are a little disappointing, I'm afraid. They've steadied out since yesterday but they're not what we'd expect from a Plant that demonstrated a significantly larger output on more than one occasion. What can you tell me of those experiences? Did the Plant mention pain?"

He felt his head cock to the side. "He did. He mentioned how horrified he was that he was forced to destroy two human settlements. He mentioned how guilty he felt, despite having little to no control over what he had been forced to do."

She shook her head slightly, still scribbling. "My purpose in this project is to determine how this Plant and its genetic twin manifested on the primary ship, and how to repeat the process. Did you know that?"

That actually was a surprise. He figured she'd been brought on when he'd refused to remove Vash's bionics. Not that it had really created much of a delay, and he'd seen what kind of condition Vash had been in at the time, but he'd rather hoped the young man had merely been affecting the drugged look.

But of course it made sense. She was the one that had manufactured the drugs. She'd been a part of this project from its onset. They'd needed an expert in Plant physiology to create useful inhibitors, since the known Plant ones might not have had the same effect on a Plant like Vash.

Because Vash wasn't really a Plant. Not like the others. He wasn't necessarily their next evolution, but his mother had made significant changes to him – and Knives – for a purpose that was lost when she was destroyed in the upper atmosphere in Gunsmoke.

While privately he held onto the theory they had been created to facilitate communication between Plants and humans, a last ditch effort by their mother to create a being that could speak both languages, there was no way to tell. They blended in with other humans perfectly, after all. He had seen no records that all the doctors that had tended to Vash over his long life had ever had any suspicions, even though they'd had to do exploratory surgery repeatedly to find bullets and other objects.

As far as he'd ever seen of Vash – and he'd scanned the man from head to foot when they'd rescued him out in the desert – there was no indication he was a Plant besides a small spike in brain activity where normal humans had none, and he maintained an internal temperature of 99.4 degrees Fahrenheit instead of the human 98.6.

And he healed unusually quickly. He actually probably could speed up that regeneration to nearly instantaneous if he wanted to, though it would take years of training and would also require someone to be injuring him the entire time.

He was fairly sure Dr. Shrew would be happy to help.

"Too many Plants have been lost over the years, and while we're confident that Earth will eventually send a small fleet to determine our fate, until then you have a responsibility to your race to assist us in the creation of new Plants," she was continuing. "Since Plants have only an outward appearance of gender, the fact that Plant designate G-101A is outwardly male isn't relevant. But as the first Plant born, if you will, outside of Earth, and spontaneously, it may hold the key to Plant manufacturing here on Gunsmoke."

"So humans can't survive without Plants," he said softly. "I suppose all the towns currently subsisting on solar power will eventually die? It was your people who began that silly rumor about the suns burning out, wasn't it."

She made a face. "I know nothing of such details," she sniffed. "I can tell you that without the ability to manufacture food, this planet will not be able to sustain growing human populations. The Plants are the only feasible way to terraform this planet, and without such drastic means we will not be able to sustain the current growth trend in the population."

"What makes you think the population is going to continue to grow? After all, without resources the infant mortality rate will go up significantly. What makes you think the human population won't steady out at a currently sustainable level?"

She looked as though he'd just insisted that gravity was static. "There's no reason to deny the population the resources necessary for growth. The Plants provide pollution-less power generation. I understand your first personal encounter with a Plant has deeply influenced your philosophy, but you must understand – most Plants are not treated as designate G-101A –"

"Yes, most are treated like batteries," he interrupted. "Clearly if they don't know they're living things with the same rights as their human captors it eliminates the negative moral implications of trapping a living thing in a machine and draining it dry of life so you can have cool air pumped into your laboratory."

She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "I'm not going to try to convince you-"

"Good," he hissed, leaning forward until the guard at the door cleared his throat warningly. "Because you're wrong, Dr. Shrew. All your 'project' is doing is slowing down a perfectly logical switch from Plant to solar power, and killing a very good friend of mine."

She actually glanced towards one of the monitors. "The Plant is behaving optimally."

Two of the monitors showed power generation, one on a general scale and the other on a very fine one. Both showed that Vash was capable of generating the standard amount of power a normal Plant would. In fact, he was emitting more of certain types of energy than a normal Plant, and unfortunately it was the types of energy most sought after for the more difficult products. However, he was emitting less of the more common types of energy, including heat energy and light energy.

"You haven't gotten him to sustain that kind of output for more than a few hours at a time," he growled. "Look at him. Have you ever seen a Plant just lay there like that?"

The third monitor showed an energy-scan of the insides of the bulb. Apparently Vash, as drugged as he'd been, had taken offense to the cameras in the bulb with him on his first day there and consumed them in a large ball of white energy. Whatever he'd done had interfered with the camera even prior to its destruction, so no one was really sure how he'd done it. Unfortunately, he'd confirmed his ability to behave like a Plant.

Of course, he'd probably known, once he realized he'd been installed a bulb, that the game was up. At that point, perhaps all he wanted was a little privacy as he . . . changed.

Looking at his outline in the screen, there was no doubt his physical appearance had changed significantly.

"It's the first Plant we've ever observed that hasn't been whole," she objected. "Most Plants generate a mist that allows them to create updrafts, which they catch with their wings and float. Clearly it cannot do the latter. Once floating, most Plants' main bodies are fairly still. This Plant is behaving, therefore, as normally as it can under the circumstances."

Vash hadn't uncurled. He'd spent days trapped in this lab, staring at the screens, watching the inevitable. How Vash was slowly defeated with inhibitors and sedatives and chemicals. Until he stopped moving altogether.

Until he gave up.

Once he'd done that, everything had gone, from Dr. Shrew's point of view, much more smoothly. They'd forced his Angel Arm to manifest, and with that manifestation Vash had no longer been able to control his energy output. He'd curled into a ball in the lowest part of the Bulb, and he hadn't moved since. Occasionally his wing would flutter, more often than not to wrap around him, as though protecting him from something.

He was pretty sure Vash didn't have complete control of his manifested limbs. He'd never had much chance to use them, and it would be the equivalent of strapping an extra arm on a human. It would reflexively move, even instinctively on some occasions, but otherwise the most anyone would do with it the first few weeks was whack it into things or find it exploring the world around it like it had a mind of its own.

He had the feeling that wing was working on the same premise. Vash was still aware enough to feel distressed, to feel pain. The wing was alternating between relaxing and reacting to the chemicals they were feeding him to stabilize his energy output.

"Nothing about Vash is behaving normally," he spat. "He was never meant to be in a bulb. He's dying, and you call it 'optimal behavior'."

"It won't be in there forever," she pointed out, almost sympathetically. "It isn't like anyone expected this Plant to behave like other Plants, at least for day to day generation. And those same expectations will be carried over to the Plant's genetic twin. Of course, that Plant, when captured, will likely be whole, and many of the problems we've had with this Plant may have no bearing on the other. There's no way to tell if the power generation difficulties are a symptom of the loss of a limb."

Unfortunately, she had a point. He was pretty sure Knives could fully manifest wings and Angel Arms both if he felt like it. There was no reason to believe they weren't capable of transforming their legs, either.

"Then what are your expectations of this Plant?"

She actually smiled faintly. "As soon as Dr. Greer is satisfied he can maintain a safe bulb environment with this type of Plant, designate G-101A will be given to my team. We were brought on to determine how this Plant came to be and see if we can recreate the environment with our own Plant, A-20034. That Plant came of the same stock as the Plants aboard the primary SEEDs ship, so the same capabilities for producing offspring should be inherent."

He wrapped his brain around that a moment. "Could you take a human child and determine from it alone how sperm met egg, doctor?"

She turned to look at him, and since her angle had changed, he could actually see her eyes. They were nearly as blank as the lenses had been when they'd been reflecting white light. "Not entirely, but it would certainly give us a place to start. And your help would speed the process along."

He leaned back in the chair with a grunt. "I will not help you," he growled, mostly to himself. "I will not help you experiment on Vash."

"I understand the bionics removal went very poorly," she said carefully into the ensuing silence. "Without understanding of your technology, the technicians did a poor job removing the mechanism while leaving its nerve cells intact."

He was certain of that. Once he'd woken he'd discovered they were still at work, and he was pretty sure the drug had knocked him out a good six hours.

It wasn't as potent as the stuff they'd given him back at his own ship. That had effectively kept him under the entire trip. All he recalled was sand, and a sweet, thick syrup they'd poured into his mouth. Probably to boost his electrolytes in the heat. He had no idea where this ship was, how this crew had managed to stay apart for so long.

Longer than they had. Long enough to think they were still a part of the Earth military.

Long enough to think they were still on Earth, in a way. That they should have all the things that were promised to them when they signed up for the mission. An Eden, terraformed with the blood of all those Plants.

He found himself wondering what Jessica was doing. First Brad, now him . . . they'd never let him return. Even if everything they wanted came true. If they were able to capture Knives before he went on a rampage and wiped out half the settlements or more. If they were able to install him in a bulb, effectively removing the threat of him from the planet. If they were able to determine how the twins were born, and force the other Plants to produce offspring along with all the other things that were squeezed out of their gentle, confused bodies.

"What happens later?" he asked suddenly. "Let's say you capture and install Knives into a bulb. You determine how the twins were born. You even recreate the environment successfully. You already agree that Vash cannot be used for day to day power generation. What will you do with him then?"

She blinked, clearly offput by the question. "Well, cold-sleep, of course," she said, as though it were obvious. "We can't have a Plant existing outside of a bulb consciously. Dr. Greer's tests and the devastation to the human settlements proves this Plant's 'Gate is larger than any that has been previously measured. Should we be in need of a huge, concentrated burst of power, G-101A would of course be a prime candidate for re-insertion into a bulb."

He closed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly. Oh, Vash. He tried to imagine that overgrown blonde hair, those deep, blue-green eyes staring at him from the inside of a bulb as massive amounts of power were drawn from him. Whether it would feel like it had when Knives had forced him to fire on July. Whether he would be conscious enough to realize he wasn't killing anyone, that the energy was being controlled not by him, but by something else.

Whether he would simply be trapped in the nightmare of Augusta every time he was taken out of the cold-sleep tube.

Whether it was better to let them finish him off now.

Or whether it was better to hang onto hope that somehow, he could be freed.

Of course, to what end? The resources on this ship had to be limited, but now they knew so much about his physiology. Their sensors had a limit, but the settlements would always be on the lookout. He could survive in the desert . . . but was surviving enough? Would Vash be glad, if he were aware, that every time they pulled life away from him it was to further human goals?

Shouldn't he be giving the same consideration to Knives, the analytical part of his mind wondered. If they contained Knives, a huge threat to both Vash and the humans on Gunsmoke would be eliminated. He wasn't sure Vash's little deal with the devil was going to hold up forever. Then again, there was no guarantee that Knives' incarceration would either. If neither ended with Knives' death, both could conceivably be the end of humans on Gunsmoke.

"With your help, what must be done to the Plant could be limited," she said softly, as though sensing an opening. "Your understanding of this Plant type is significantly greater than mine, at this point. Assisting me would be lessening the time-"

"Why do you care?" he heard himself ask, but there was no venom behind it. "The Plant is unaware of pain, isn't that right? Why would it matter to me if the time spent carving that Plant into tiny pieces was lessened or lengthened? Clearly you don't think Vash would care one way or the other."

And to be honest, he wasn't really sure Vash would, either. Not now.

"I'm glad to hear you refer to the Plant as what it is," she responded, almost clinically. "When you were first brought in for consulting, I was afraid you simply couldn't tell the differ-"

"Consulting?" He couldn't help a low laugh. "You consider kidnapping a method of employment? Are we on the high seas, Dr. Shrew? Are you perhaps 'impressing' me as the British navy used to do?"

It was clear she wasn't catching the reference, and he sighed. "I was not 'brought in for consulting.' I was kidnapped from my home. I had patients back on that ship, friends, responsibilities. I don't see that helping you will change my position as a prisoner of this ship and its blasted commander, and I don't see how assisting you with Vash's eventual dissection is going to change his."

"I'm not going to dissect the Plant!" She sounded outraged. "It's the only specimen I will be allowed to observe! That Plant is a precious resource!" Her tone clearly said, what do you think I am?

"That Plant is precious," he agreed. "That Plant is a young man with a life, with responsibilities. That Plant is Vash the Stampede, and you owe him your life."

She flipped the pages on her clipboard, tucking her pen back into her labcoat with more force than was necessary. Ah, so he'd finally managed to offend her. Apparently he needed to go after her intentions more often. Maybe she'd leave him alone.

Maybe driving her away was not the best way to assist Vash. Maybe helping her run her tests would ultimately be less painful for him.

He watched her stalk towards the guard, who stepped aside smartly as she reached the door. "As always, it was very education to speak with you, 'Doc,'" she managed politely.

The door slid closed behind her, and the only sounds left with him were the bubbling tubes and the final, allegro movement of a symphony he'd never heard.

- . -

Moving was a long time coming. Her head hurt in ways she'd never imagined it could. Not in all the times she'd gotten drunk had she ever felt like this. Not even after Mr. Vash had defeated the Nebraska Brothers and the town had thrown the party had she felt like this.

That at least had come with dreams of cake and ice cream. This came with –

Millie's eyes snapped open, then immediately squeezed shut as bright light assaulted her already aching head. She had seen a blinding flash of movement, and her stagnant brain finally decided there had been actual motion involved. It sent that inquiry to her stomach, which informed it that it couldn't tell whether they were moving, but it felt like vomiting anyway.

She swallowed down that urge, discovering that at some point a small, furry rodent had crawled into her mouth and died. Her tongue was thick and plastered to the roof of her mouth, and there was a bitter, coppery taste that soured as her tongue curled back towards her molars.

Once the nausea had passed, she felt it safe to try to open her eyes again. She just slitted them, making out the color of brightness.

Sand. That was light reflecting off sand. She'd seen it enough times to know. So she was moving across the sand.

Her lower body seemed to be completely numb. Her ears were telling her that she was surrounded by something noisy and there were fabric-rubbing sounds near them, which she interpreted as being jostled.

Another careful, slitted look revealed what seemed to be a dusty windshield, and the blessed, darker-colored dashboard of a vehicle.

She was in a vehicle. Goodness! Was she driving!

She pulled herself upright with the deep sigh of one that hadn't taken more than a shallow breath in many hours. She had been unaware that she hadn't been upright, but now that she was it was obvious that she'd been lying sideways, on her left shoulder, and her back would have hurt more if her head hadn't reacted to the change in attitude by clenching itself into a ball and wailing.

Millie brought a hand up to her head, noting it hadn't been wrapped around a steering wheel that in fact, upon close inspection, didn't seem to be attached to the dashboard in front of her. She risked a slow and careful look to her left, and found the steering mechanism.

Someone else's hand was on it.

That was good. Otherwise she'd have been driving who knew how long in what direction in the desert, and been in very big trouble indeed.

A few careful blinks later, it occurred to her to wonder who was driving. It wasn't like Meryl to make her go anywhere in that condition, and especially not after a party like she must've –

Another jarring flash, but this time it wasn't in front of her eyes.

Blood.

Crates.

The ramp, she'd watched the ramp go by and for some reason a leg seemed to stick into it and then disappear again, then stick into it and then out again, and she thought she was going to throw up –

Something had been digging into her stomach, but it removed itself jarringly, and she'd been flung into a hard something, that huffed slightly when she landed on it as if put out it had to support her weight. A noise, a door slamming. A motor turning over.

But what before . . .?

Another flash, almost as if it had been waiting for her to ask that question.

Millie felt herself start to shake. It was odd, that her headache started trying to throb to both that and her pulse, and it occurred to her that it was very odd that she had a pulse at all.

Her narrowed eyes found the hand on the steering wheel, and followed it to a wrist, up a relaxed-looking arm in a non-descript red shirt, a broad shoulder, and the profile of a face she knew almost immediately didn't look quite right.

Platinum blonde hair finished off the look, and the clear, topaz blue eye she could see wasn't looking at her, stabbing at her brain and reaching in and –

She closed her eyes, barely feeling the tear that trickled down her cheek.

Oh, Meryl. Mr. Vash. I didn't mean to tell him those things –

But they couldn't hear her. She needed to calm down.

She was still alive.

He was there. In a truck with her. Close enough to do whatever he wanted.

And apparently that was to take her with him someplace.

Why? Where were they going? And why would he bring her, if she'd told him everything he'd asked?

She opened her eyes again, scanning the cab of the vehicle. It looked like a truck – her ears seemed a little sharper, and they could hear a creaking coming from behind her that wouldn't have been made by a land rover. Where had Mr. Knives gotten a truck? Was it the same truck the men had kidnapped her in?

How much time had passed? It seemed very bright to her glassy eyes, but it could have just been morning. Maybe she just slept the night, and he was taking her back to town?

Why would he do that? So she could warn everyone that he was going to destroy them?

She needed water.

Millie continued looking, up at the top of the cab, where the old fabric was tearing away from the roof of the cab, flopping a little in one corner. There were no extra compartments built into it, no hidden bottles. She let her eyes fall towards the floor, but nothing was rolling around her feet. The bench-like seat contained just her and Mr. Knives –

And a canteen, leaning lightly against his right leg.

She stared at it a while, contemplating her chances. She couldn't snatch it from him, it would be rude besides. And he wouldn't want to drink after her, so if he offered it to her it would be the same as giving her all his water.

He wasn't going to do that either.

She swallowed again, hoping it would generate enough spit to talk, and tried.

"Why?"

It seemed to her she'd asked that question before. Maybe she needed to quantify it – he never seemed to answer her question when she asked it.

She let her head fall onto the headrest, to her left, and watched him. If he was going to hurt her, there was literally nothing she could do about it. Anything she might have wanted to keep from him, he now knew.

There was nothing to lose.

He glanced at her, once, a very calculating look. "Silence," he said after a moment. It wasn't loud, it wasn't even particularly laced with venom. Just a command.

His mind was clearly on other things.

"Why," she repeated doggedly. Why was he taking her with him? Why did he inject her with that syringe? What was in it? Where were they going? What did he want with her?

He didn't look at her again, and for a long time she thought he was simply ignoring her.

"If you're asking why you're still alive, the answer is the same one I gave you before. I require a proselyte to attend to my affairs in the human settlements."

A lackey. Like Mr. Legato.

"I – won't," she managed around her tongue. It wasn't working right, and despite her thirst she was starting to get anxious. She still couldn't feel her legs, really anything below her belly. She experimentally tried twitching a foot, and her eyes watched them swing gently as the truck took them over a dune.

She couldn't walk. Even if she got free of the truck, she couldn't walk.

"You won't?" he repeated, and some of the hatred she remembered from his stay in their rented home returned. "Weigh your choices carefully, spider. I can leave you here if you like."

"Why . . . why can't –"

In her peripheral vision, she saw him glance at her again, this time a little longer.

"Raise your right arm," he commanded.

Sluggishly, she obeyed. She was able to lift it with little effort, but the movement lacked coordination. She let it drop back into her lap.

She felt like she had a fever, like she had the time she caught the flu from thomas fleas. Her stomach cramped, reminding her that it wasn't happy with its current contents.

Blood. Her blood. Her nose had started bleeding, but he wouldn't let her wipe it, and she'd swallowed a huge glob of it –

"Do you feel pain?"

She dropped her head against the headrest again, but this time she was afraid to look at him, preferring to squint out the windshield. "Head."

Without warning he struck her, and after a moment she realized she was looking out the right passenger window, and there was a blur of something dark that stayed stationary as the bright sand flitted past. She was too close to it, she leaned back with a little effort and tried to focus.

A smear of something.

Shaking, she reached up that hand again and touched her face, then pulled it away.

There was blood on her fingers.

Her lip was cut.

She licked it experimentally, tasting salt. Cut on her teeth. Oddly, it didn't hurt. Her headache wasn't even that much worse. He'd knocked her into the window, she should be unconscious –

Maybe she had been.

She turned again to look at him, not surprised to find him watching her. Critically.

"Is your headache worse?" he asked calmly.

She almost didn't answer him. "No," she finally whispered.

He continued staring at her, and she immediately averted her gaze. She heard him make a noise – maybe a laugh?

"Contact makes it easier with your kind, but it's not necessary."

"Why did you – do that?" It was getting easier to talk, but she was still terribly thirsty.

He was silent for a long time, and she was pretty sure she fell asleep, because when he spoke she found her eyes were closed and she briefly wasn't sure where she was.

"Judging your reflexes. Humans are usually mediocre at best, but you're especially pitiful."

She considered that a moment. That he hadn't hurt her for his own amusement or to punish her was a little reassuring, but only a little. Testing her reflexes? He was the one that had – had done this to her! He'd given her that drug, he'd –

She closed her eyes again, turning her head away from him. Suddenly she didn't want to talk to him anymore. It was okay to just sit in silence. She tried to wiggle her toes again, imagining she could feel her socks scraping against her skin as the digits moved.

"Massage your legs."

Her eyes opened again, but she didn't look at him. "Why?"

The truck lurched to a stop and Millie, completely unprepared, slammed face-first into the dash. Stars exploded in front of her eyes, and she cried out when he grabbed her by the hair and hauled her back into her seat.

He forcibly turned her head to look at him, and he appeared significantly less patient than he had before.

"If you continue to question me, you're not going to live very long."

He didn't release her until she choked out something she hoped sounded like "I understand," and she tried to swallow down her sobs as he threw the truck back into gear and continued on. She did the best she could, following his directions. Her arms were clumsy, she was really just wiping limp hands on the tops of her pants. But as she continued the motion, blinking through her tears, she noted that both her hands and arms slowly started to respond.

Her legs tingled unpleasantly, but as she got some dexterity back the tingling turned to stabbing pinpricks, and it started traveling down her knee and shin. The next time she tried to wriggle her feet, she saw them twitch.

She kept at it, half afraid Mr. Knives would totally lose patience with her and half relieved that it seemed to be doing some good. Maybe she'd been sitting in the truck so long her lower body had just gone to sleep, and this was just getting circulation back. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he needed to make sure she could walk, because they were going to be in a town soon.

It made sense they'd be coming to a town soon. A human settlement. He needed her to do something.

Millie took a deep breath, glad that the pain in her head seemed to make everything else just twinge.

If she refused him again, he would probably hurt her again. Maybe kill her.

But if she obeyed him, wouldn't –

Maybe he wouldn't ask her to do anything horrible. Maybe he just needed her to do something simple, like pick up a letter. Maybe they were approaching April, and he needed her to get the letter that she'd written and sent. She wasn't sure it would be there yet, but she wasn't sure how much time was passing even as she was thinking.

When she could freely rotate her feet at the ankles and feel all her toes she dared to stop her work, leaning back slightly in the seat. They were going over quite a few bumps; there was no doubt in her mind Knives was not taking a well-traveled route. It was dangerous; sinkholes were prevalent in the desert, particularly in areas that weren't built up on the limestone foundations like the settlements.

Maybe he'd been around so long he'd learned what the sand looked like around sinkholes.

Slowly her tense shoulders relaxed; she hadn't realized she'd been clenching them until she felt them loosen. Her companion did nothing, and she dared to lean back into the seat like she meant it. Iles passed away like that, Millie afraid to move and Mr. Knives never so much as twitching a muscle.

He'd changed clothes, her mind noted. He'd been wearing a red and white bodysuit when she'd first encountered him, but now he was dressed – like a human. A loose, short-sleeved, red cotton shirt billowed across his chest in the wind from the open window, and nondescript brown breeches stretched down to well-worn, faded leather boots that tied up to his calves. An empty holster sat mid-way up his right calf. It was that the canteen seemed intent to crawl into, bumping his leg ever so gently as they jounced across the landscape.

Where was his gun?

She thought back to their brief stay in the rented home. She wasn't sure she'd actually seen Mr. Vash's, either, then, but he'd definitely had it in his hand when he'd put his foot down in Hondelic.

She shivered slightly, though the cab of the truck was just as hot as the outside air.

Mr. Vash had been especially scary that day. He'd apologized for it over and over again in his letters, it had taken her a long time to reassure him that she and Meryl were fine, they understood. He hadn't really meant the destruction to leave the council building, but considering the power he normally used from the weapon, she pointed out it was amazing he'd been able to control it as well as he had. In hindsight, she wasn't sure that was a good thing to be telling him, but it did seem to reassure him. He hadn't mentioned the event since.

Millie stared at the desert going by, the dunes in the distance, and then she turned and looked at Mr. Knives.

"I'll help you," she said, softly but clearly.

He didn't spare her a look, and she didn't expect one. She sat up straighter and wriggled her feet again, trying to get a glimpse of the town. There was one nearby, but it probably wasn't April. He might have been taking her to Inepral City, or possibly Mei.

He was looking for more of those men. He'd killed them before he could ask them what he wanted to know.

He wanted to know what had happened to Mr. Vash. It was the only thing that made sense.

Mr. Vash was the only one he loved enough to wear human clothes for.

Knives made a choked sound beside her, and she glanced at him again. His expression was quickly fading, but for a split second it had looked pained.

"Are you all right, Mr. Knives?" She didn't think she'd injured him, but perhaps he was tired. He'd been driving for a long time, and if he told her where they were going, she could at least drive in the general direction until they arrived or he woke again.

He changed his grip on the steering wheel, but otherwise didn't shift his position. She watched him blink, but found the motion quick. So he wasn't fatigued.

But then again, Mr. Vash had shown amazing resilience in the same department.

"What . . . do you think happened to him?"

He stared out at the desert around them, making a detour around a particularly large dune of sand. She watched him straighten the vehicle without so much as a glance at the suns to ensure he hadn't accidentally changed direction. He seemed to actually be driving to something rather than at it, something he could actually see. She squinted at the horizon again, but didn't make out anything except more sand.

Then again, Vash had spotted her Mr. Priest over almost an ile –

Millie bit her lip. She wasn't going to forgive him for that intrusion. It had been none of his business and – and Nicholas was dead. It wasn't as though anything he had done would have endangered Mr. Vash, certainly not so long after his death.

"I don't know," the Plant finally ground out.

Encouraged, Millie pursued. "How do you know the men that kidnapped me are responsible for what happened to him? Maybe they're just after you." After it came out of her mouth, Millie realized it probably hadn't been the best observation to make.

Knives twisted his lips into something that wasn't a smile. "Because you were unconscious."

Because she was unconscious? That had been because of what he had done, and –

"The syringe?"

"Plant inhibitors in pure form shouldn't have affected your physiology at all." It was curt, in the manner of feeding her the information to fend off further questions.

Plant inhibitors? So they made drugs that just affected Plants? Of course, you dolt, she chided her brain. She'd seen crews administer sedatives to the Plants before Mr. Vash had extracted them. It was supposed to make the process easier on them, but she was pretty sure it hurt them anyway. After so long in a protected environment, to feel the sand-clogged wind on their skin alone must have been foreign and unpleasant.

That was why he'd given them to her. To see if anything happened to her. If not, he'd know the syringe had been meant for him.

But it had affected her anyway. Was that because Mr. Vash was more like a human than most Plants? So they had to modify the drugs to affect Knives. But how did they know what would work –

Unless they tested them on another Plant that was like Mr. Knives.

She stared at Knives, horrified. "But how -?"

He lowered his chin a little bit, a mannerism she'd seen from Mr. Vash when he was forced to get serious with some bounty hunters. "I don't know," he repeated.

Her heart sank. If Mr. Vash had been kidnapped and they were drugging him, then he couldn't get away on his own! They'd have to find him and help him! And even if they did, Mr. Knives would see this as Mr. Vash's plan failing, which would mean they'd be rescuing him to just turn around and start wiping out settlements.

He'd agreed to that. That if anything went wrong that Knives wouldn't be held to the terms of their compromise, and that Knives had made stipulations of his own. Did that mean that Mr. Vash would help him . . .?

She took a deep breath, swallowing a fresh set of tears. Oh, Mr. Vash. It didn't make it any less wrong, but now at least she could understand what had made Mr. Knives kill those men –

"How will you find them?" Her voice was positively tiny.

He gestured sharply with one finger, hand still on the wheel. "I already have."

She stared, seeing dunes. She started looking for tiny people on the far horizons, or glints that would be sunlight reflecting off other vehicles. He snorted.

"They build small bunkers about an ile out of town, stocking them with supplies from the settlements. The design is simple, and the location easy to determine."

So they were taking the stocks the towns were building, in order to make the Plants work harder before they were liberated. Or was it to limit the amount of goods that would be available between the pre-production and post-production teams' switchout? Why would they need to stockpile supplies like that?

So he had to be taking her to a town that was about to be converted. If she'd still been in New Phoenix, then that meant they were either heading back to Collins or going on to Inepral City?

"Meryl!" she exclaimed. She'd almost forgotten! Sempai would probably have gone on to the meeting, knowing how important it was. Meryl probably thought she'd gotten drunk in a bar somewhere and would meet her at the sand steamer. When she hadn't – well, Sempai would be worried. There was no doubt. But it shouldn't have stopped her from doing her work. It was the job, after all. How many times had Sempai reminded her?

Or would she have stayed in New Phoenix looking for her? Millie closed her eyes and was fervently grateful that she hadn't found them. Mr. Knives and Meryl in a room together was tense enough even when Mr. Vash was there to protect her. Without . . .

"What about her?" His lip twitched, either from distaste or an irritating piece of sand, she couldn't tell.

"Oh, I just realized I made her worry," she said quickly. "I don't know if she went on to Inepral City or stayed in New Phoenix looking for me."

He grunted. "It doesn't matter."

She supposed not. If they knew about the letters and they'd actually kidnapped Mr. Vash, it wasn't too weird to think that they'd figured out Inepral City was next on the list for upgrades, even if they hadn't met with the council yet to set a date.

Her stomach clenched suddenly. What if they were upset that Mr. Knives had killed their men, and they went after Meryl in desperation? Even if they knew she wasn't writing letters, they worked so closely together, and this could have affected Bernardelli –

She filed the word into the back of her mind, knowing something about it was important and confident her brain would spit it back out when it clicked. But they might have been intercepting reports, if they thought that the girls still followed Vash the Stampede.

Instead, he had been following them. It made for a nice change, except that this had happened.

Oh, Mr. Vash. Please be safe.

Knives let off the gas, and the momentum of the truck was quickly stopped by the soft sand. He finally took his hand off the wheel, and pointed to a spot almost directly between where both suns were just starting to think about setting.

"Walk," he said clearly.

She immediately opened the door to the truck, if only to mollify him that she was going to obey him this time. "What – do you want me to do when I get there?"

Her tactic worked; he didn't kill her for asking yet another question. "Whatever you want."

It was more cryptic than the original command by far, but he pierced her with a look as easily as he could have with a knife, and she found herself out of the truck and walking before she'd really had much time to think about it. She wasn't afraid of him, she wasn't-

She was.

The sand was quite deep, and despite the fact that she could now feel her legs, they weren't behaving as well as they normally would. She felt weak, drained somehow, and she wondered how Mr. Vash felt. Was he even conscious? Maybe not, if he couldn't tell his brother where he was. Maybe what it inhibited was his ability to talk without speaking. Maybe he was just asleep, and they were waiting until they kidnapped Mr. Knives before they did anything.

The wind was worse than it had been in the cab of the truck, and she glanced back. It was about thirty yarz behind her, and she could clearly see it was now empty. The driver's side door was closed, but there was no one sitting behind the wheel.

Unnerved, Millie glanced around, even shielding her eyes as she looked out at the sand in all directions.

Mr. Knives was gone.

She swallowed around a breath of dry air, marked her position with the truck, and started out again.

She didn't know how far she walked. It felt like twenty iles, but it was probably only fifteen or so minutes before she actually saw a little shoe-sized black box, half-buried in the sand. She headed for it, a little curiously. It did nothing, not even when she knelt next to it. Tentatively, Millie reached out and brushed a handful of sand off the top.

It seemed to slip into the sand slightly. Curiously, she pressed down on it.

It sank into the mound of sand around it, and beside her, a black void suddenly swallowed the ground.

Millie's eyes grew wide as she watched the door completely open. It was a ramp. The bottom of it looked exactly like it had when she'd seen the leg moving – when Knives had carried her out, she realized. He'd slung her over his shoulder and carried her up a ramp just like this one.

Which meant she'd find another room, filled with crates and maps and two men with nice voices and syringes.

And maybe water!

Millie entered slowly, but it was hard to see in the dim of the underground structure. "Hello?" she called out shyly, but no one responded. It didn't seem very long before she'd walked the ramp's length and come to a door. The same door she'd fallen against as she'd been backing away from Mr. Knives. Her hand shook slightly as she grasped the knob, and she pulled the door towards herself.

The first thing she noticed was that it wasn't much lighter in the room than on the mostly-underground ramp. The second thing she noticed were two red dots in that darkness, about eye level and clearly not connected to each other.

Dust dislodged from the opening door was falling, glinting faintly red at about her chest level. Millie looked down at herself and found two red dots playing across the front of her traveling coat.

What in the world . . .?

They didn't hurt. They didn't even feel hot. They didn't prevent her from taking a step into the room, either.

"Who are you?" a voice called out sharply.

She looked back at the two red dots in the room.

"Where's Mr. Vash?"

She heard an odd click, and realized they both must have guns. Did the guns make the red dots?

"Who are you!"

A faint sound of sand sliding down the ramp caught her attention, and she hastily pulled the door shut behind her.

"Please, please listen to me, and just run," she begged. "He's coming to kill you."

- . -

**Author's Note**: I didn't realize the 22nd was Knives' Day! My bad. You get Knives anyway, just late. ; ) In three days I'm going out of the country for a week and a half, so I will do my best to finish this before I go. Otherwise I'll leave you with a really good cliffhanger, I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer in previous chapters. I guess I spill some of the beans in this chapter. Please see the author's notes at the bottom.

- . -

It'd been a long time since she'd thought much about Wolfwood.

Her memories of him were of course tainted by the fate he chose for himself. Most of them had to do with cleaning a church and yellow pajamas and a cross that almost dwarfed the man who carried it. Full of mercy . . . for whom? Not for him. Not even for his orphans. Maybe full of mercy for his victims.

Every other clear memory she had of him contained a crumpled cigarette or an easy, insincere smile.

She wouldn't have chosen him for Millie, if she'd had a choice. He'd been the same flavor of perceptive, but unlike her, he lost his innocence a very long time ago, probably in a manner she didn't need to contemplate. His awareness came from the fact that his life was constantly in danger. The few times he'd genuinely smiled, really grinned anything besides that too-easy smile of his, had been either at Vash when he was being an idiot, or at Millie.

She wished she could remember him better. She wished she'd paid more attention to him when he was around. She didn't even have any photographs of him, didn't know anyone that could do a reasonable portrait. Something to give Millie. Something to help her remember with, now that the cross was gone.

She supposed it was only natural that she'd moved on so quickly after his death. After all, she'd been following Vash, and burying herself in work was her way of dealing with almost everything. It hadn't helped that Millie had the same approach. And there'd been a lot going on. The fight with Legato, then Knives, then this. Pretty much every Plant contract Bernardelli had needed to be renegotiated, and for some reason the Chief seemed to think they were the team for the job.

Vash the Stampede was to blame for all of it.

Ignoring the fact that he'd been the reason they were on that bus in the desolate sand between Mei and Inepral City, he'd been the one to spot a shining buckle. Knowing what they did now, it was pretty obvious at that time Nicholas D. Wolfwood hadn't known anything about his assignment. Their meeting had been purely coincidental.

It hadn't been coincidental that he'd turned up in time for the dueling match. Nor after he'd gotten his orders and returned to Eriks, dragged him out of hiding and back onto the path to his brother Knives.

Which also led, quite directly, to the fact that her ass was aching with every bump Sunjy hit, and the wind the vehicle created as it crept its way across desert was in no way a relief from the heat.

So she could blame both of them. Damn men.

Meryl Stryfe pushed an ebony lock of hair out of her face, glaring up at it when the wind brushed it right back moments later. She was in the backseat behind Sunjy, which in a way wasn't fair, because he was quite short so she had a lot of leg room. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was bent in a way that reminded her of a folding chair.

The engineer didn't seem to mind, however; her head lay in the crevice between the headrest and the open windowframe, and judging by the slow, measured rise and fall of her for-once covered chest, she was sound asleep.

In front of her, Aaron Carter was scanning the horizon. He was also jammed as close to the dash as he could possibly be, in order to give 'Miss Elizabeth' as much room as possible, but in the end it just made for two very uncomfortable tall people.

Not for the first time, Meryl was glad of her stature. Tall enough not to be overlooked or stepped on, short enough to be comfortable in situations like this one.

This situation, in general terms, wasn't even that unusual. Many times she and Millie had begged, borrowed, or bought transportation as fast as could be begged, borrowed, or bought in an effort to finally catch up with the mysterious gunman in the red coat.

The only differences were the fact that she had found herself partnered with Elizabeth instead of Millie, and she was chasing a letter instead of a man. But that letter was eventually supposed to go to a man, who would then send it to another one. And that other one was Vash the Stampede. So in a very round-about way-

Meryl growled to herself and threw her head back on the headrest.

There was nothing usual about this. This was as unusual as it got.

She was in a car with three virtual strangers trying to stop the end of humanity on Gunsmoke.

She didn't have her partner. She didn't have Vash. The two constants in her life in the past several years, the only two resources she couldn't use on this endeavor. She found herself wondering idly if the hotel manager was still saving their room, 104, and growled again.

Of all the unimportant things to be worrying about at a time like this!

She would give anything to just close her eyes and sleep, like Elizabeth was apparently having no trouble doing. Even though she knew when they arrived they'd have to correctly identify Knives' human slave, intercept the letter, find the saboteurs, apprehend them, successfully question them in the hopes they knew enough to give them Vash's and Millie's location, and then proceed there, fighting whatever militia in the process.

She had her derringers. Aaron was obviously used to this sort of thing, and he had the armorment for his very own militia in the trunk. Sunjy was apparently also not unfamiliar with weapons, but his forte seemed to be blending in and espionage. He'd been Elizabeth's best bodyguard due to his ability to not be noticed and to notice people in the beginning motions of attacking his charge.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, was sacked out against the window in a stylish sand-colored blouse and matching trousers that Meryl herself wasn't sure weren't just painted on. There wasn't a weapon visible on her, though maybe that was the point. She didn't really need any. So long as their saboteurs were male, she had all the weapons she needed stuffed into that . . . blouse . . .

Meryl unclenched her teeth with effort and stared out her own window. How that woman could sleep . . .

What made her so special that Knives would allow her to actually interact with Vash? What were their conversations like? She didn't seem that appalled by the changes in him, but she didn't really know him, know him as anything more than a ghost from her past that had embraced her after her parents succumbed to the elements, took care of her until she was put into the hands of relatives.

Meryl felt a smile twitch on her lips. It was easy to imagine Vash with little Elizabeth. She'd seen him so often playing with the kids –

But he probably didn't do that anymore. Might not even miss it.

Only sand met her gaze, mounds and mounds of it. Since they were taking the most direct course, they'd veered away from Inepral City slightly before reaching the city limits, and after restocking both water and fuel had immediately set out where there was no road. The most traveled path between Inepral City and Mei was said to be the shortest, but Doc's map proved that was quite incorrect. They were going to make up at least fifty iles on this trip, and that should be enough time.

Assuming the truck didn't break down or they didn't find themselves driving into a sandstorm.

She almost smiled. Doc and sandstorms seemed to go together in her head. As a Bernardelli insurance agent she'd been the one to negotiate that contract, as well. She personally had probably set up about one eighth of the contracts they had now, not that she'd bothered to go back to the main office and check into her standing. She kept getting paychecks, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn't that difficult to recall, it had been just a little over a year ago. A sandstorm had been bearing down on them, so she'd gladly accepted their offer of shelter and spent the next two days in the company of confused, aloof but very curious people. Doc himself had struck her as much younger than his years, almost a little mischievous. It had been easy to see what had drawn him to Vash, and Vash to him.

He'd told her the last time he'd seen Vash had been in a sandstorm. When Nicholas and Vash had led yet saved them from two of Knives' Gung-Ho Guns, unfortunately resulting in a crash to the planet's surface. The completion of the Great Fall. Doubtlessly Knives would have targeted their still-floating SEEDs ship eventually, but there was no doubt Vash had changed their lives as surely as he'd changed hers.

Even Wolfwood's. It just seemed like he was the only one she'd ever seen that had seemed to cause an equal change in Vash's.

These thoughts were the very reason she couldn't get to freakin' sleep.

Her tired eyes kept watching the sand, waiting for a twinkle. It would be a shiny buckle that showed her the way.

Wolfwood, she thought silently, if you're out there, you better be watching out for Millie. You owe her.

Millie missed him so much. And here she'd been a complete bitch and all wrapped up in 'the job' and her jealousy that she hadn't been there. Hadn't just given up the goose and dragged the taller girl to a bar to drink his drinks and bawl her eyes out. And that was what she needed. All those nights listening to the muffled sounds of sobs, when what Millie really needed, more than anything, was a cup of pudding and to be allowed to scream her pain out to the sky.

Millie, unlike most people, had the ability to heal. To truly forgive.

It reminded her very much of Vash. Two peas in a pod. Childlike people, scoffed at for their simplicity, that just might have the right outlook on life.

And where had it gotten them, a sharper part of her mind asked.

Kidnapped. Possibly killed.

Sometimes she thought maybe, just maybe, Knives had a point.

She blinked gritty eyes and kept staring out the window.

"Stop the car!"

She froze as the vehicle was sucked to a stop by the desert, almost positive she hadn't meant to say anything of the kind. It hadn't even sounded like her voice –

Meryl picked up her head in surprise as the door to her right opened, and she watched Elizabeth painfully uncurl herself and fall out of the vehicle. Aaron was already outside, still scanning the horizon, and Sunjy left the motor idling. Curiously, she also unfastened her seatbelt and opened her door.

"What did you see, Miss Elizabeth?"

Meryl could have sworn that woman was asleep –

"There."

She was pointing at – Meryl squinted.

At nothing. Sand and dust and hot. She was pointing vaguely east, and the heat shimmered off the light sands as far as the eye could see.

But Aaron's face darkened considerably, and he crossed in front of Elizabeth, heading towards the trunk.

Maybe she was too short?

Meryl padded behind the car, behind Aaron, and approached Elizabeth. She didn't seem perturbed, at least not nearly as much as Aaron. In fact, she looked relatively pleased.

"An exhaust trail," she explained, gesturing. Again, all Meryl saw was heat shimmering into the horizon. "It means there's a ship buried here. At least," she amended, "that's probably what it means. More wreckage, and this wreckage? Still working."

The words slammed into her brain like the cross-shaped bullets from Millie's stun-gun, that had ripped through the floor to rescue Wolfwood and Vash. Meryl resisted the urge to slap herself in the forehead.

"There is a ship here," she agreed. "It was manufacturing these . . . spider-like bodyguard robots. Vash found it the last time we drove this way."

Elizabeth stared at her.

Meryl sniffed defensively and held her chin high. "Don't look at me like that! There wasn't anyone in it, and Vash shut down the assembly line when we left."

The engineer looked critically at the sparkling horizon. "Someone turned it back on," she said simply. "Aaron?"

"Do we have time for this, Miss Elizabeth?"

That was a very good question. Despite her curiosity, they had more pressing concerns than a ship that might or might not still be making killer robots. There were far more dangerous things in the world, and one of them was about to be supremely unhappy with them.

"We figured on at least three hours. One can be spent here. If this wreckage still has power, it might have a Plant."

Meryl trapped the tip of her tongue between her teeth and kept her protest to herself, glancing back at the rover as Sunjy killed the engine. If it did have a Plant, why would Vash not have mentioned it in his list? Or was it on another 'list,' that he kept with Knives? What if he was here extracting this Plant, and that was why he was missing?

What if every time he went missing it would be to wander the desert, finding lost ships and freeing their Plants?

And his disappearance was in no way related to the sabotage? What if she was spending all this time simply moving further and further away from Millie?

"You do not agree," a voice growled at her left, and Meryl turned to look at Sunjy. The man was so darkly complected and tan that he might as well have been made of thomas-hide. He stood about her height, and walked nigh silently on the crunching sand. His dark brown eyes matched his skin, and his ebony hair was as wiry as his slight frame.

Hardly the stature of a bodyguard. He looked like he belonged in a seedy bar, busing tables.

She shook her head with a laugh that sounded false, even to her, and waved her hands dismissively. "No, it's fine! I've been on this ship before, and since Vash and Mr. Wolfwood took down the killer robots I'm sure it will be fine! What could possibly go wrong?"

His eyes never moved or blinked. "You're strange," he said finally.

Meryl had no reply for that, and he continued past her, following Elizabeth. After glaring at his impassive back a moment, she followed.

Aaron had chosen a rather large weapon from their vehicle, something that looked as though it were capable of firing multiple types of projectiles. Which was good, since if someone had turned the assembly line back on there would be all kinds of targets. They'd just seen them from the bus, and the wreckage of them as the passengers had staggered through the remnants of an entire army of them. Vash and Wolfwood had done a pretty good job of destroying about a hundred of the things, and most had borne damage to their . . . lights. Eyes. Sensors?

She'd aim there. Aaron probably already knew about it, if they'd really explored and salvaged so many of these things.

Elizabeth was in the lead, and Meryl couldn't help but watch her as she topped a dune and scanned the area. The engineer knew how to walk up a dune without wasting motion. Obviously she'd done this before. Of course, she was still stupidly wearing high-heeled boots to match the trousers and silk.

How many times had she approached wreckage in the desert? Was this her idea of a good time?

Meryl trudged up the sand behind her, the last to get to the top but the only one to recognize the oddly rounded humps for what they were.

"They're all deactivated," she said confidently, noting Aaron had hefted his cannon off his shoulder and was now holding it in a better position to be used. "A little girl on the bus we were on got herded here by them, so –" Vash and Wolfwood had taken care of it. Long before they ever turned the bus around to come back.

But Elizabeth just nodded, as if she'd heard the rest of the explanation. "Vash," she just said simply, and turned slightly to her right, letting herself skitter back down the sand at an angle. The rest of them followed suit.

Meryl also grabbed a pair of derringers – just in case Vash and Wolfwood hadn't done as bang-up of a job as she remembered.

They approached the first hump, mostly covered in sand and odd only because of its roundness. A quick check found it was exactly like she remembered. Metal, with flexible hose-like legs and a damaged front sensor array. Aaron prodded the mechanism with the barrel of his gun-rifle-thing, but not so much as a high-frequency buzz responded. Elizabeth squinted down at it a moment before murmuring something appreciatively.

"You saw this thing moving?"

"I saw this thing trying to kill people," she responded a bit more curtly than she intended. She didn't remember them fondly.

A particularly brisk gust of wind blew across their little sand-dune valley, and another glint of metal became visible. Another empty shell.

They were carcasses in their own way, she thought. They'd eventually be worn down and fade away into the sand just like everything else.

"You said something about an exhaust trail?" she heard herself say, a little nervously. Aaron glanced her way, and she was glad to see a little tension in his frame as well. So she wasn't the only one a little creeped out by dead spider robots.

The engineer looked as though she'd like nothing better than a set of tools so she could dismantle one. But after another appreciative look, she took in the horizon again, looking apparently for a heat shimmer that looked a bit different from all the other ones.

"This way."

They picked their way through the robot corpses with care, Aaron taking point this time in case any of them should reactivate. But Nicholas and Vash had really done a number on them – they went further and further in and yet not one of those mounds moved.

Meryl didn't put away her derringers. Aaron didn't lower his weapon. Sunjy kept an eye on everything, and Elizabeth heedlessly continued on towards her exhaust spout like a kid on Christmas morning.

When they were almost on top of it Meryl could admit that now she could see a difference. Plants didn't produce pollution, it wasn't like the exhaust that came out of a truck. It was just a slightly different shimmering than the heat around it. Apparently hotter. The hot air was pouring out of a small hole in the ground, and Elizabeth confidently kicked some sand over it.

The sand shot some fifteen feet above them, showering back down on them and the dead robots. Meryl shook her head irritatedly and glared at the engineer, who was hmming thoughtfully.

"Too deep to dig to," she finally said. "At least ten feet." She gave Meryl an appraising look, and the shorter girl almost blushed when she realized she'd been shaking her head clean of sand as though she had fleas. She stopped with a stormy look.

"What?"

"How'd you get into this ship before?"

A sinkhole was probably not the best answer, she considered. Unfortunately, it was honest.

"We, ah, got caught up in a sinkhole and were pulled into a damaged part of the hull," she admitted. "I think Vash and Wolfwood got in the same way."

"Wolfwood?"

"A traveling priest," she said hurriedly. "Look, I think I can find that sinkhole again based on where these robots are but even if we do, getting out is a pain and it's going to take a long time." And she was really starting to get a bad feeling about the entire thing.

"I concur," Aaron rumbled apologetically. "We might need to save this for another day."

Not that they'd necessarily have many more of them.

Meryl glanced back the way they'd come, slightly relieved to catch a glimpse of the roof of their rover. None of the sandy lumps had moved, and everything would be fine if they'd just get back in and continue on their way –

Something glinted off to her right, and she looked before she could stop herself.

"Oh, no." It was almost a whine. Why'd it have to be here? Why couldn't he have shown her a nice store porch with some nice shade to wait for the saboteurs? She felt her shoulders slump but she obediently headed towards the spot that she'd seen the flash of light.

"Wel- Meryl?"

She waved a hand over her shoulder and kept going. There was no way she was going to explain this, certainly not after she'd just finished arguing they needed to leave –

As she got closer, she realized what she was looking at was a stray piece of metal. About four inches of it were exposed, and it was badly dulled from sand and dust. It was slightly curved, sort of like a bent, fluted pipe.

Knowing she was going to regret it, and cursing that traveling priest under her breath, Meryl bent down and put her hand around the piece of metal.

It was hot, but not unbearably so, and it was connected to something. She tugged lightly, but nothing happened.

An enormous shadow suddenly loomed over her, and she bit back a squeak as an odd shape protruded from it –

"What did you find?"

She swallowed her heart back into her chest and glared over her shoulder. "Oh, probably just some old piece of robot –"

Beside her, Elizabeth began to literally jumped up and down. Meryl noted she probably shouldn't do that often if she wanted to keep that bra in good shape –

Her face lit up. "Hull," she confirmed. Then she leaned in over Meryl, put her hand over the protesting insurance girl's, and yanked with all her might.

Meryl hissed as her fingers were crushed under the metal handle, and it creaked slowly as it gave. It bent upwards about forty-five degrees before an odd, deep clank! was heard, and then suddenly it was too heavy to hold. Startled, both women let it drop open, and a dim, oblong entrance gaped at them.

"I think this will save us some time," the engineer observed.

Meryl looked up at Aaron beseechingly. The look he gave her was very much like the look he'd been wearing when she'd marched up to the plant with her suitcase in tow. He was just doing his job, and he was resigned to it.

He motioned, and she hurriedly scooted aside as he knelt down and inspected what he could see of the inside. It was dim, just as it had been before, and the air smelled a little different than the stuff blowing around them. Not musty, especially. Almost cleaner.

"Environmental systems are still running," he confirmed, and kicked some sand into the opening. Then, he put a foot on the edge of the bottom of the opening, took a breath, and tipped over. The result was a face-first fall towards the hole.

"Aaron!" she gasped, making a grab for his arm before he killed himself, but he fell too fast. Seconds passed, yet somehow he was still in the doorway. His fall had been arrested by some invisible something. He appeared to be standing, parallel with the ground, on the metal grid inside the ship.

He glanced back at her, looking for all the world as though he were lying face-first on a piece of clear glass. "You might want to sit on the edge instead," he said quietly to her. "Gravity'll catch you instantly, and it'll be a little weird."

Then he – walked. Straight down into the hole, perpendicular with the ground.

She watched, stunned, as Sunjy did exactly the same thing. He pitched face-first towards that hole, and yet somehow ended up standing. Gravity inside the ship, her brain volunteered. Since their feet were on the floor of the ship, as far as they were concerned they were standing. The attitude of the ship to the ground didn't matter once you were inside.

Elizabeth smiled a little condescendingly. "I guess you didn't notice since you went in via sinkhole. You probably lost all sense of the planet's gravity before you entered the hull."

Then she too fell into the doorway.

Meryl squared her shoulders. There was no way she was going to crawl into that ship if the rest of them could so effortlessly do this. All she had to do was keep her knees locked and trust that the ship would catch her.

Right. Trust that she wasn't about to fall face-first down a corridor probably as deep as the ship was wide.

She stood at the edge of the hole, looking down at their retreating backs, and tucked her derringers back into her cloak. Either they didn't care if she followed them, or they were giving her the privacy to look like an idiot. This would be so easy for Vash, her brain quipped, and she swatted at it in irritation.

Just – fall. Face-first. How hard could falling be?

The hole was deep. If she fell, she'd be falling a long way to where she could just make out a twist in the corridor. She'd bellyflop right onto that door, about twenty yarz down, and she'd die a painful death. Now that she could see them walking, her brain could almost wrap around how this worked. She was lying flat on her back, she told herself.

All she had to do was pretend she was flat on her back, and wanted to fall up onto her feet.

Meryl took a deep breath, squared her shoulders again, and tipped.

At the last second, her body overrode her, bending her knees and trying to twist her to her side. It knew it was falling, and it wanted her to land on her shoulder instead of her forehead. Meryl flinched as the doorway approached –

And then stumbled.

She flailed wildly, catching the left wall, and managed to keep her feet by sheer luck. She was standing, a little sideways and crouched at a very odd angle, and she pushed herself upright as quickly as she could, turning beet red.

It was her first time, dammit! At least she hadn't landed on her butt altogether.

Sunjy glanced back at the commotion, met her eyes, and gave her an encouraging smile. She made a face.

The corridor wasn't as dim now that she was inside it. Though she clearly remembered Vash powering down the ship on their last visit, apparently some secondary systems, such as emergency lighting, were still operational. No matter how many wrecks she visited and insured, they never became less fascinating. The walls were made of a cool metal, brushed so they didn't reflect too much light in a glare but still enough to create an ambient effect.

The air was cooler, and became significantly so as she continued into the ship. She seemed to remember this corridor, it was a maintenance hall and if she wasn't mistaken, the assembly chamber was below. They'd probably find the hole Millie had punched through the floor with her stun-gun, and from there she knew where to get to a computer console.

Not that she was sure Elizabeth really knew how to use them as well as Vash, but since she could modify Plant machinery, there was no reason to think she couldn't at least determine if there was a Plant on board at all.

And now they didn't have to swim out sand to get out. A half-hour, tops, and they could be on their way again to their far less scary but ultimately far more important mission.

There were few doors and fewer branches in the corridor, save the hard right it took about twenty yarz down. Aaron was in the lead again, his large weapon at the ready, and Elizabeth was just behind him. They turned the corner without being shot down by evil robots, and Meryl followed Sunjy, glancing back at that square of sunlight almost longingly.

She'd wanted to be in the shade, she rationalized. Just not this shade.

What were they going to find in this ship that was going to help Vash and Millie? She couldn't think of anything offhand that she would wish for, besides maybe a magical hat that would make the saboteurs immediately surrender Vash and Millie unharmed and then scatter to the four winds. She supposed if they could reprogram the robots they could use them to fight, but until they had any idea what they were up against –

"Third door on the left," Elizabeth's voice echoed back to her. "That one should take us to the secondary lift system, and from there to the bridge."

"We were lucky the ship crashed in this position," Sunjy's voice responded. "We wouldn't have time to walk it from the aft sections."

Meryl rounded the corner and found herself momentarily stunned.

The emergency lighting resulted in a single, paneled light every ten yarz or so. On a glance, she could count probably a hundred of them, just on the right side of the corridor. If this maintenance corridor extended the length of the ship –

It went on forever. An endless expanse of empty, metal corridor as far as the eye could see.

The last time she'd been there, she'd been so caught up in just finding Wolfwood and Vash that she hadn't paid attention to anything but the occasional bits of sand they'd shed as they'd continued through the ship. And the pieces of robot.

The three were several yarz ahead of her, still talking quietly to each other, and they passed the first access hatch. The third one was another fifty or so yarz up, and it apparently cut across the width of the ship. She hoped it wasn't as long as this one –

Her brain stopped momentarily, and she looked past them again at the huge, lonely corridor. If this was the corridor she'd been in before, where were the destroyed robots?

She quickened her steps until she caught up with the main group, hesitating before asking. "Uh, Elizabeth? How many of these corridors would there be?"

She glanced over her shoulder, possibly reacting to the tone. "Eight," she responded after a moment. "North, northeast, east, southeast . . . you get the picture."

Meryl nodded. So they could climb up and down the ladders that lined the walls every fifty or so yarz to get to things in the hull that needed repairing. "What's the distance between them? From outside the hull?" She'd lost track of where they were in relation to the planet, but surely if this corridor and another were close enough to the surface to be accessed, it wasn't that far. The ship couldn't really be _that_ big.

"A lot," she responded. "I couldn't tell you exactly without looking at a schematic, but the circumference of a SEEDs ship at its widest point is probably over two iles . . . so a quarter ile?"

If a quarter ile of the width of the ship were accessible from the surface, her mind pointed out cheerfully, the rounded side of the hull would be visible from the surface.

They'd entered the very front of the ship. Maybe there just wasn't enough light to see by –

Meryl squinted, but those far-off lights didn't glint off anything besides metal grilling and occasional access hatches.

Maybe they'd fallen into one of the other corridors. She really hadn't been paying attention, after all, there was no reason to panic since this ship was huge and they could have sunk into it anywhere –

No. If the ship was that big, and not visible from the surface, there were very few places she could have entered. This was the only one.

Meryl stopped walking. "We need to turn back. Now."

Elizabeth had stopped at nearly the same instant, and she was now staring at the ceiling as though entreating help from God. Meryl didn't care. There was something not right. The engineer could bitch to her heart's content, but they had bigger problems at the moment and indulging her little-

"You're right," the elegant woman agreed quietly. "Let's go."

Meryl followed her gaze, afraid she was going to see the red glint of a spider robot on the sloped walls. Instead, she saw a shadowed mess interrupting the smooth interior wall, like someone had put tin foil around a portion of it –

Like they'd had to cover something.

Like maybe a hole in the hull.

Did the robots also manage ship maintenance?

Meryl turned smartly and almost ran smack into the open access hatch door. She managed to stop her forward momentum about two inches from the metal. She froze a moment, knowing she had neither opened it nor heard it open, but nothing horrible happened. No robotic voice asked her to identify herself. Behind her, she heard Aaron ready his weapon.

But nothing happened.

Tentatively, she took a step back. The door was opened so that it blocked most of the hallway, exactly perpendicular with the wall. She reached out a hand and brushed her fingertips across the metal.

Nothing happened.

Meryl gave it a little shove.

The door glided back about a foot, silently.

They moved silently.

"Put down your weapons."

Meryl closed her eyes.

The voice had come from behind them.

She waited until she heard the rest of the party's shuffling feet before she turned, and she wasn't at all surprised when she heard boots scraping on the grating behind her. Someone had been in the doorway after all. She held her hands out at her sides, hoping whoever it was could see there was nothing in them.

"We don't mean any harm –" she started, but a sharp poke in her side silenced her. She turned and leveled the most acidic glare she could manage at her captor.

She was looking at a human, which had been apparent from the voice, dressed in a dark grey uniform and holding the weirdest-looking rifle she'd ever seen. It was sleek and black, the barrel quite narrow before it lengthened into a rubberized stock. On top of the barrel perched what looked like another barrel, emitting a red light.

It was still dim, so it was hard to make out his expression, but the red light on the rifle made it easy to determine his gesture. When she did nothing, he followed it up with a matter-of-fact "Walk."

They'd done a good job. They'd opened the door behind her when in fact their main body of soldiers seemed to have been waiting behind the second door. When Meryl had told them to stop, they'd been just about to cross in front of it, so when they turned to head back they way they had come, the men had slipped out the second door. They'd been boxed in before they even knew what was happening.

Where had these people come from? She didn't recall seeing or hearing any evidence of anyone the last time they'd been on this ship. Surely Vash would have noticed –

Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he was more concerned with getting them all out of there without asking him uncomfortable questions.

"Who are you?" Elizabeth's voice echoed mildly as Meryl was marched closer to the group.

She could see that there were about eight of the armed men, to their group of four. Sunjy had handed the soldier nearest him a small pistol, though she was pretty sure it wasn't his only one. Aaron was apparently being less cooperative, because he was still hanging onto his, with Elizabeth angled behind him. He couldn't completely protect her, but he was doing the best he could.

"It's alright, Aaron," she said in the same calm tone, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. "We're trespassing, after all. Be a good boy and give them your gun."

Meryl was surprised she would use such a condescending tone with him, but after a moment he grunted and shoved the heavy weapon towards the nearest man. The solider took it, stumbling back slightly under its weight, as several of the others raised their weapons a little higher. He regarded the men around him, still not moving out of their line of sight of Elizabeth.

Suddenly he was exactly the same man she'd met last night. Stupid, rude, and indifferent.

"Take them into holding room one," the one behind her ordered, and with another jab she found herself walking into the second access hatch, following Sunjy.

They walked through another dimly lit corridor, but only for a few moments before taking a branch and going down a flight of stairs. The next corridor was considerably brighter, though there was still no evidence of other people. In the better light she could see that all eight of them were wearing the same uniform, all carrying the same type of rifle. Even their black rubber boots matched. She'd never seen a town militia this organized, but then again, she'd never seen a gang look this – neat. BDN came immediately to mind.

There was no neon on these uniforms. There was an odd emblem in the top right-hand corner, though, a black patch surrounded by yellow, five-pointed stars and a shield of some kind. She didn't want to be caught staring, so she simply averted her gaze to the floor and walked carefully along. Because Elizabeth was so obviously unarmed, they were assuming she was as well.

That was a card she was going to save until it looked like there was no other way out.

Hopefully they'd be led to whoever was in charge of this . . . group of people, let Elizabeth smoothly apologize their way out, and be back on track in a matter of minutes.

Her chin raised slightly. Forget Elizabeth! She was a Bernardelli insurance agent, and she was pretty sure this ship wasn't covered by contract. It might not want to be, but if they thought this group was just salesmen . . . well, that might get them shot. There were no smiles on the men around them, just stern faces and fit bodies.

"Not a very talkative group," Elizabeth commented. "Are you going to tell me who you represent?"

No response. Meryl watched them for any sign that they might be warming up to her, and instead accidentally met the eyes of one of the soldiers. She looked away quickly, but couldn't help noticing he continued to stare at her long after she averted her eyes.

Damn! Did he realize she was armed?

But he said nothing, and they didn't stop, and it seemed like iles went by before the lead guard reached up suddenly and tugged on the front of his uniform jacket. He held something towards a slightly glowing panel in the wall, and a set of twin doors slid apart with the hiss of escaping air.

An airtight room? Of course. She was on a spaceship.

Elizabeth entered as though he were escorting her into a fine hotel room, and Aaron followed her in exactly the same way Vash had done, so long ago. It rankled her a little bit, but she clamped a tight lid on it when she realized the solider that had been staring at her was also standing by the doors. She kept her eyes on the back of Sunjy's head and followed him into the room with her best attempt at a natural expression.

She figured she looked naturally anxious. And angry. And scared. Because that was how she felt.

If they got locked in this room for who knew how long, there'd be nothing to prevent Knives' human toy from being kidnapped by the saboteurs just like Millie had been. He'd get tipped off, they'd have no leads on where to find Vash and Millie, and when Knives realized something might have happened to his brother –

Well, then, maybe these little grey soldiers would be the only humans left on Gunsmoke.

Assuming Vash hadn't told Knives about it.

Two of the soldiers flanked her as she went in, and for an excruciating few seconds she was certain they were going to stop her. But they didn't. They allowed her to follow Sunjy towards a translucent white table, surrounded by six chairs that were anchored into the floor.

Other than six people and the table and chairs, the room was completely empty.

"Have a seat," the one that had been staring at her said. "I'm afraid you're going to be here for a while."

No one sat. Sunjy looked at her carefully, and she looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth was casting a disappointed look around the room.

"I think we've been cooperative enough," she purred. "I have a car waiting outside of your ship, and a meeting in Mei later this afternoon. Please tell your employer to hurry – my time isn't cheap."

The soldier didn't move. She frowned at him.

"We didn't realize anyone had laid claim to the wreckage. No harm, no foul?"

It was an ancient Earth saying, the original meaning had long since been lost but the gist remained true. Neither soldier responded.

Meryl stood straighter, and looked the one that hadn't been staring her in the eyes. "My name is Meryl Stryfe. I'm with the Bernardelli Insurance –"

"I know who you are," the other one said, interrupting her almost apologetically. "Don't think that your contributions are unappreciated, but there's nothing we can do."

She blinked, momentarily nonplussed, and stared at him. "My . . . contributions?" she heard herself echo.

The soldier actually smiled. At her!

"You chose an inopportune time to . . . stage an invasion." His look lost its humor as he locked gazes with Aaron. Aaron, for his part, glared from deep-set eyes like any gang grunt she'd ever seen. The change in him was astonishing.

Of course. If Elizabeth treated him like he was stupid, and he acted like he was stupid, they'd think he was stupid. Unfortunately, there were lots of them and they had guns. Then again, the main force of them had probably moved off to do whatever they were doing. She could take these two guards down if she had to.

And Sunjy, at least, had indicated he knew she was still armed.

"Currently we have a situation that requires our commander's full attention. When he has a moment he will hear your concerns. Until then, you will wait here until you have completed your interviews."

He was talking to the entire room now, and Elizabeth raised a well-manicured eyebrow.

"An invasion?" She laughed, her voice pleasant and warm. "I see. Please tell your commander to hurry along. As I said, I have an appointment."

"You'll have to break it," the first guard responded, his tone a little challenging.

She smiled alluringly at him. "It's not the kind of appointment you can break," she murmured. "I'm sure you understand."

"I think you'll find it's already been cancelled," the guard responded coldly. "We will begin the interviews when you have relinquished all your weapons."

Meryl's heart sank as the second guard looked at her squarely, but she returned what she hoped was a blank look.

It's now or never, Meryl –

"Aaron, didn't I tell you to give the men your gun?"

He made a churlish face and reached for the back of his pants. Both guards immediately focused on him, raising their weapons at his less-than-slow movement. He was giving her an opening at the risk of his life –

Meryl drew. In the corner of her eye she also saw Sunjy, a blur of motion. She fired, aiming to shoot the weapons out of their hands rather than injure them, and two rifles went flying, clattered to the ground several feet from the guards.

Sunjy was completing a maneuver that had rather gently tackled Elizabeth into one of the chairs, and Aaron was already in the process of hitting the soldier that had recognized her.

That left her facing the first one.

He wasted no time in charging for her. She threw the used derringers at his head, already grabbing the next pair as the doors hissed open.

Some of them had still been outside.

She managed to pull the next pair before the first guard could get to her, and he froze, but the advantage was already lost. Two more guards advanced into the room, one towards her and the other on Aaron. He paused, his fist cocked back over his shoulder, and regarded them. The guard that had recognized her was slumped in his grasp, his uniform collar wrapped around Aaron's hand.

"Drop 'em, miss."

She looked back at the rifle, pointed at her face, and contemplated her chances of getting off both rounds. He held the rifle expertly, and his eyes were cold.

"I won't ask you again."

The guard she had her derringers leveled at still didn't move, despite how confident his companion sounded. Did she want to kill over this?

Did she want to be killed over this?

She glanced at Sunjy, protecting a surprised-looking Elizabeth with his tiny frame, and at Aaron, who met her eyes. He never moved his head, but she got the impression of a grim nod, and he released the guard he'd been pummeling.

She sighed, and slowly lowered the derringers.

The closest guard walked up to her and accepted them. "The cloak too," he noted, and she carefully unfastened the top and held the white fabric out to him. He didn't drop it or even flinch, but it was clear the weight surprised him. The guards near the door hadn't lowered their weapons, and she took a deep breath.

So much for intercepting that letter.

She carefully didn't look at Sunjy, watching as the first one knelt by his almost-unconscious companion. He frowned, then tapped what looked like a shiny black button on his collar. "Get a med team to holding room one," he announced, as though he expected it to actually happen, and then he threw her cloak over his shoulder and grabbed the second guard under his arms, hauling him out of the room. The two armed guards backed out after him, and the last thing they saw before the doors closed were the rifles.

Meryl frowned at Aaron, who looked none the worse for the encounter save the gun he had presumably hidden had also been taken. He gave her a dead look, and she wasn't sure it was because he thought their might be some kind of surveillance still on them or because he was disappointed with her. As far as she knew, Sunjy was in the clear, if he did indeed have a weapon.

That left them one. One gun against however many dark grey guys there were.

"So much for getting out of here in time," she managed, and sat down.

Surprisingly, the seats were very comfortable. They almost felt as though they were full of liquid instead of stuffing or hair, and she looked down at the neutrally-temperatured cushion she was sitting on before poking it experimentally.

It almost felt like it was full of a really thick pudding.

Elizabeth didn't show nearly the same outward curiosity, sinking into one before leaning back and crossing her legs primly. "Don't give up hope yet. We still have our interviewer to speak with. Once they figure out who we are and why we're here, I doubt they'll feel we're important enough to bother their 'commander'."

Aaron and Sunjy remained standing, and she couldn't help but notice Sunjy eventually crossed the table to stand next to her. She looked up at him and gave him the best smile she could manage. It probably looked fake.

"I'll be fine."

He looked vaguely amused, but didn't say anything for a time. Then, "What contributions were they referring to?"

She sighed, shaking her head even as she racked her brain. "I've never seen them before," she finally admitted. "I didn't recognize the insignia on their arms, either. They're behaving too well to be a gang, and they're not wearing federal colors." Not that she would expect the government would have been sitting on this ship and not doing something with it.

Were they doing something with it?

Elizabeth was watching her with a piercing look, much more the woman in charge that Meryl remembered than she had been when the guards were in the room. "Let's stop the chatter."

Meryl blinked at her, taken aback. "What-"

"Clearly they know you. They're using Lost Technology. We're being monitored visibly and audibly. If they want information, they can come in here and ask."

Meryl kept another sigh to herself and looked around the room. The table was semi-see-through, some kind of plastic. The walls were non-descript, paneled white, and the ceiling was flat. No other doors. No windows. Not even a visible vent.

Way to freakin' go, Meryl, she scolded herself. As if Wolfwood could really speak from the grave -

Of course, it had been Elizabeth who noticed the exhaust, and Elizabeth that had chosen the path they'd take. It wasn't like she'd led them here –

But she hadn't told them about it, either, in the guardhouse back in Collins. She'd just laughed and talked to herself. She'd told them no one would be in the ship, and she'd found the hatch handle. She'd told them to turn around and sprung the trap in the corridor, as well.

Who were these people? Where had they come from? What were they doing? With those insignia, she really didn't believe it could be a simple gang. A secret government facility, maybe? Nothing else seemed likely, not as organized and . . . decent wasn't the right word, but it wasn't far off, either. Polite wasn't the one she wanted . . .

The door hissed open again, cutting her search of her vocabulary short, and two armed men entered. They did nothing more alarming than take up positions on either side of the door. A third, in a light grey uniform and no visible weapon, walked in a few moments after. He had a clear clipboard, with oddly earmarked pages and a simple, silver pen. He didn't even glance at them.

"We'll interview them in pairs. Ladies, if you'd follow me . . ."

She carefully didn't look at Elizabeth and stood under the watchful eye of the guards. She felt a little chilled without the familiar weight of her cloak, and she knew her standard Bernardelli uniform was badly wrinkled. She was also acutely aware that she didn't smell great, and hoped that she at least shared that in common with Elizabeth.

Apparently one of the perks of painted-on pants was that there wasn't enough material to wrinkle.

The girls walked silently as they were escorted down the hall. This new officer lead the way, and a single armed guard brought up the rear. Despite the fact Elizabeth was between her and the armed guard, and she was close enough to this new officer to choke him, neither seemed particularly tense or uncomfortable with the situation.

Considering less than five minutes ago she'd had one of these guys at gunpoint, this was not the response she was expecting.

Meryl considered trying to bluster, but she didn't think it would have much effect. Mei and Inepral City had no idea this ship was out in the desert. The government had no idea this ship was out in the desert. Vash, Wolfwood, Millie and the other passengers on the bus knew about it, but one was dead, the other two were missing, and she had no idea who the dozen strangers on the bus had been. If they told the story of spider robots they'd be told they had heatstroke and laughed out of the bar.

There was no one coming to rescue them. They were on their own.

They were led about fifty yarz to another door, also on the left, and the officer in the lead gestured with his clipboard. He still didn't look up. "After you, ladies," he said in the same cool, polite voice, and after hesitating slightly, she proceeded in.

It was exactly like the other room, only now they didn't have the comforting presence of Elizabeth's two bodyguards to fill up the whiteness.

"Why don't you both take a seat over there." Another gesture. There were only two seats on the side he'd pointed out, and she gave Elizabeth an uncomfortable look as she sat. The tall engineer, for her part, looked as cool as she had when she'd been chewing out the Collins crew.

The guard had come in also, but his rifle was slung over his neck and the hand on the stock was loose. At least they weren't about to be executed.

Their interviewer took a seat across from Elizabeth, on the opposite side of the table, and took a sheet of paper off his clipboard. The edges still had an odd look to them, as though they'd been dog-eared and then the bent corners had been cut off.

"Meryl Stryfe . . . and Elizabeth Boulaise. Is that your familial name, Miss Elizabeth? Your records with the Engineering Federation are a little incomplete in that area."

Both women gaped at him.

He finally looked up, and his face put him in his mid fifties, with what was left of his hair a thin brown, and calm, blue-grey eyes. He smiled slightly at them.

"We have extensive files on the both of you, of course with Miss Stryfe it's a bit thicker," he laughed. "We're sorry about frightening you two, but frankly you're lucky you weren't shot on sight. I don't know how you figured it out, but it's a little disconcerting. We thought we were better hidden than that."

The white translucent table didn't allow for any under-the-table signals to Elizabeth, so Meryl cleared her throat instead.

"Well, think again," she started firmly. "We don't appreciate being held against our will and you can bet we're not the only ones who know."

His face seemed to grow a little more solemn. "Think you have it figured out, do you?" he asked them, voice light.

Meryl wasn't sure what to say, but Elizabeth took a preparatory breath. "Why don't you start from the beginning. We're both approaching this with expectations that might not be accurate."

His lips quirked, and he glanced back down at the clipboard. "Very well. Let's start with you, then, Miss Elizabeth. How long prior to the 'Plant Upgrade' project had you been in contact with Millions Knives?"

Meryl stopped breathing.

It . . . couldn't be . . .

"You misunderstand," the engineer said smoothly. "I'll be asking the questions. How many of your own have been planted in my engineering crews?"

He leaned back in his seat and really looked them over. "No," he finally said, as though trying to convince himself. "You couldn't have just stumbled to us out of dumb luck. Not now."

"You mean now that you've tipped your hands to Knives?" Elizabeth countered. "We were on our way to correct that little error of yours when you so rudely detained us."

His look sharpened. "You know where he is?"

Elizabeth leaned back comfortably in her seat. "First things first. What in the world are you going to do now?"

He glanced at Meryl, and she put on her most professional smile. This was like negotiating a contract. She could hide whatever she wanted.

Of course, usually when she was negotiating she was being honest.

These were the saboteurs? People with their own ship? Their own uniforms? How did they know about Knives? Why did they keep referring to her like she'd been helping them all along?

"I really don't think you ladies have the whole picture," he finally replied. "We 'tipped our hand,' as you say, to Knives on purpose. It would have been more helpful to follow you to Knives, of course, but as you say, it's only a matter of time until he arrives. Hence the tightened security." He waved a hand lazily at the guard.

"Now, I'm going to explain a few thing to you that you might find hard to believe." He loosened two sheets of paper from his clipboard, and his right hand strayed to his uniform chest pocket, as though it were looking for another pen without guidance from his brain. "You can choose not to hear them, and you will be kept here, comfortably, until the solution has been successfully implemented. However, your cooperation would be extremely beneficial to us all, so I hope you'll consider listening to what I have to say."

Elizabeth suddenly sat up much straighter. "What are you planning to do with my men?"

He smiled indulgently at her, and Meryl was pleased to see she didn't respond in the slightest. "They will be kept, for now, out of the loop. But do not concern yourself for their safety. While your little display of rebellion was quite frankly impressive, you saw how quickly it was stopped. We'll sedate them if necessary, but I was rather hoping you could ask them to behave for the next few weeks."

Weeks?

Elizabeth was looking more alarmed by the second, and that in itself was making her stomach clench.

"Who are you?"

He pushed the two sheets of paper at them, one for each. "I take it you agree to my terms? Full disclosure guarantees cooperation?"

Meryl didn't even wait for Elizabeth to respond. "I'm afraid I can't accept those terms, sir," she said, as acidically as she could manage. "Furthermore, you cannot detain me for another moment-" But she couldn't think of a good threat. Or else what? She was going to be very angry?

His sigh seemed heavier than his years. "I'm afraid I can, Miss Stryfe," he corrected her. "I can hold you as long as necessary."

"You don't understand." She leaned forward, not far enough to get the guard's attention but enough to keep this – officer's. "There is an urgent, time-sensitive matter we need to handle!"

He put his silver pen between the two of them. "It will have to wait." His voice brooked no argument. "Please sign the non-disclosure agreement. If you refuse, the guard will see you to your new temporary quarters."

Meryl stared at the document, noting the same odd seal on the top left corner of the document as was on the badges of the soldiers. This man, in the light grey, didn't seem to be wearing one. Did that mean he was just a grunt, or a 'civilian' employee? Or did it mean he was important enough he didn't need the reminder of the master he served?

Beside her, Elizabeth picked up the pen, scanned the document, and signed it. Then she turned to Meryl.

"It's pretty standard," she said reassuring. "You might as well sign."

The tone was so friendly that for a moment Meryl wondered if Elizabeth had been replaced with someone else right before her eyes.

Oh. Oh!

But full cooperation? She couldn't promise that, she didn't even know what she was getting into. She licked her lips and tried again. "As a Bernardelli insurance investigator, my first loyalty will be to my company."

"Then of course you'll want to hear what I propose," the officer said. "It will concern your company's contracts, eventually."

She eyed him uncertainly, but frankly, despite the circumstances it was difficult to mistrust him. His eyes were almost the same color as hers, and the bald pate, surrounded at the very bottom of his head by that mouse brown hair, made him seem like –

Like her dad, almost.

Not that she'd trusted him as far as she could throw him. There was just something . . . engaged about him. As though he really wanted her cooperation. Like he really thought it would be best for everyone concerned.

Knives probably thought passively letting him slaughter her was also best for everyone concerned, but that didn't mean she was going to agree to it.

Elizabeth just held the pen out to her. It was a very subtle way of bludgeoning her repeatedly over the head, and she knew it.

Meryl Stryfe, you're not going anywhere for weeks and not getting any information until you sign this. He said it would eventually relate to business. You could sit and worry about Millie, or you could see what these lunatics have to offer. Either way, if you're detained much longer you don't have anything to worry about.

Meryl took the pen, noting how light it was, and signed her name to the document.

When she was done, she slid the piece of paper across the table, and the man collected it and put it back in his clipboard. She held out the pen, and he took it quite gently.

"Thank you," he said simply, regarding them both. "Please follow me. Listen carefully, and do not interrupt. I will allow you all the time for questions you like when I'm finished."

He stood, gesturing for them to as well, and Meryl got to her feet a little reluctantly. Obviously he was going to show them something, but what could possibly be so revolutionary in a wrecked SEEDs ship that would require a non-disclosure agreement? And with who? Their weird little military?

"Do you have a name?" Elizabeth asked politely, and Meryl almost smiled. So much for saving the questions till the end.

Apparently their guide had the same idea, and allowed a small smile to escape. "You may call me Bryan, if I may call you Miss Elizabeth?"

She merely nodded, and he turned to Meryl. "You prefer to go by Miss Stryfe, or . . . ?"

She began to wonder if maybe this man was actually a doctor of some kind, trying to put them at ease. "Meryl is fine." It sounded curt, and she softened it with an attempted smile. She was pretty sure all she made was a face.

He nodded as though he hadn't noticed the tone or the expression. "Very well. Meryl, Miss Elizabeth, I'm going to give you a brief overview as we walk. Once that's done, I'll be separating the two of you. There are some technical aspects I believe Miss Elizabeth will be more interested in than you, Meryl."

Slightly uncomfortable to be singled out like that, Meryl just nodded. He then stepped back towards the door, and they followed. The guard took up his position, about four feet behind them, and they walked just a step behind Bryan.

"You're both intimately aware of many of the details regarding the recent push from Plant to solar power," he began, and then paused, as though expecting an outburst. Meryl merely nodded, and Elizabeth took her cue and spoke softly. "This is no secret."

He laughed softly. "Of course. And you are both aware that Vash the Stampede has been collecting the retired Plants and taking them somewhere."

Another pause, but Meryl didn't see a need to respond. After a moment, he continued. "I believe those Plants are being taken not to free them, but as I said, to collect them. For some unknown, less benevolent purpose."

They took a hard right, and for the first time Meryl saw a person not wearing grey.

They were wearing white, from head to toe. Their trousers actually ended in booties, and a white hood was thrown back from the young woman's head.

What the . . .? What was going on here?

These . . . these people couldn't be the saboteurs?

Because that would mean Millie – and Vash – were here! Here on the ship!

"You believe Vash the Stampede is going to use them – for what? Manufacture a better gun for him?" Elizabeth couldn't keep the derision from her voice. "What would a gunman want with a Plant?"

Bryan was quite for a moment, and they walked past the girl in white. She nodded respectfully as they passed, and Bryan returned the gesture.

Okay, so not a grunt. Maybe he really was the ship doctor or something.

"I think all three of us know exactly what Vash the Stampede is," he said simply.

"You have him," Meryl heard herself say. It was a statement, and she knew immediately that it was true.

Bryan nodded without hesitating. "Yes, we do," he admitted.

She stopped dead in her tracks, and Bryan paused, glancing back her way. "Before you judge, Meryl, perhaps you'd like to see what it is I am going to show you."

"Do you realize what you've done?" Elizabeth asked, in her deceptively calm voice.

He regarded her, unsurprised. "Yes, we do," he responded. "Please, if you could save your questions till the end? I will answer all of them."

Meryl was rooted to the spot. They had Vash. Here in the ship . And probably Millie too. They were the saboteurs. They thought Vash was going to lead a Plant army against them.

Wasn't it the same thing she'd been wondering just . . . less than two full days ago?

They were going to have to tell Bryan. About the compromise. Maybe if he released Vash unharmed, he could weasel his way out of this somehow –

"Please, follow me," he repeated, patiently waiting. At a none-too-gentle headjerk from Elizabeth, she obeyed.

How had they gotten him? Was he alright? Probably not, if they thought he was going to kill them. Were they some secret military that had been formed while Vash had still been wanted? Were they the reason the bounty on his head had been lifted, rather than all her and Millie's hard work to clear his name?

"Here's where we're a little fuzzy, and I hope you'll be able to fill in the gaps of information," he continued, heading down the hall again. Except for that one woman, they hadn't seen anyone else. Meryl wasn't even sure where in the ship she was now, and she wouldn't be able to find the exit to the surface without a map and a guide.

"We know of the genetic twin, called Millions Knives. We know Knives is likely the one to lead this attack, and we know why. We know Knives caused the Great Fall."

Meryl's feet kept loyally walking, even as her train of thought sputtered. How could they possibly know that? Had Vash told them? Or Millie?

"We also know that Knives and Vash don't have a particularly close relationship," he continued, reaching into his uniform shirt and extending something on a cord towards an unmarked panel in the wall. The wall slid open to reveal a spacious closet, which he stepped into. "Please follow me, and don't be alarmed. This is nothing more than a fancy-looking lift."

Meryl followed Elizabeth into the well-lit closet, and the doors hissed closed behind her. There was a sudden but somehow not sharp sense of motion, and her stomach dropped considerably.

Down. They were going down, and at great speed.

"We know it is fully possibly that Vash had no knowledge of what Knives was planning, just as it is possible that Knives really has no intention of leading the other Plants in an all-out attack on humanity. However, it is not a threat we can afford to ignore. Just the fact that Knives and Vash are removing from human control the only weapons capable of effectively countering them is alarming enough."

"Do you really think a Plant in a bulb would have made any difference to July?" Elizabeth asked coolly. Again, the soft smile.

"Not all bulbs are created for product generation," he replied, a little cryptically. "We are about to come to a stop. Please, do not be alarmed, and proceed out the door and to your left."

The stop was not jarring, but her heels felt heavy in her shoes as the door hissed back open. She headed out, then to her left, waiting for Bryan to emerge from the elevator and begin leading again. He did so with a nod of thanks.

"We determined a forked approach was the best way to prevent this disaster from occurring," he continued, his voice a bit dry, as though he were lecturing on a subject very close to his heart. "We needed to stop the collection of the Plants by Vash and Knives, and we needed to contain them."

A chill ran through Meryl's chest, and she glanced at Elizabeth. The same thought had apparently crossed her mind, as well, but she just shook her head slightly. She was asking Meryl to wait.

Wait for what? This Bryan to lead them to Vash's dead body?

"The best way to do that, we decided, was to use the more gentle Vash to lure Knives to us. Hence intercepting the letters," he added as an afterthought. "I assume you were on your way to April, ladies?"

Neither responded, but he seemed to interpret that as assent.

"We actually sent you qualified engineers, Miss Elizabeth, to ensure that no humans came to harm with our slowing efforts. It's taken us about six months to fully prepare everything, but we're certain at this point that we can effectively capture Knives once we determine a location, and keep the Plant contained securely. Once that is done, we'll need to relocate the lost Plants and reintroduce them to their bulbs."

Elizabeth laughed, low in her throat, but didn't say anything as Bryan turned an inquiring eye her way. She was shaking her head.

Meryl didn't feel like laughing. She felt like screaming.

"What about Millie Thompson?" she asked, as neutrally as she could manage.

Bryan turned his head slightly, but didn't slow his rather brisk stride. "I'm afraid I don't have much information on your partner," he admitted. "She was taken in by one of our teams for safekeeping, but that team has yet to check in. I can assure you she won't be harmed, it was for her own safety."

Taken in? Did that mean kidnapped? "When?"

He didn't slow. "I will give you every piece of information we have on her whereabouts when we've finished here."

She was close to reaching out and grabbing his arm, but Elizabeth caught her eye and shook her head slightly. She glared icily, and received a blast of frigidness in return. Bryan was apparently oblivious to their exchange.

"Your cooperation, of course, has to do with the projects after the reclamation of Knives. Meryl, obviously we'll need your fine company's assistance in reassuring the settlements already converted or in the process of that Vash the Stampede no longer poses a threat. Miss Elizabeth, your innate knowledge of Plant systems and your unique experiences with the extraction of the lost Plants would be invaluable to the restoration project."

They still continued down the hall. It was eerily empty, a huge space with no explanation. Maybe a long time ago it had contained crates, storage of some kind. Perhaps they'd gone through all their supplies in the last hundred and thirty or so years. Maybe that's why they were so pro-Plant as the only source of power. Eventually they came to another door that slid open to admit them.

This still didn't explain who they were. He was speaking like they were the government, but nothing she'd seen indicated it besides their organization. Was it really possible these were federal officers?

Behind that door were people. Lots of people. Lots of white suits. But grey suits as well, some light like Bryan's and others dark, like the soldiers they'd previously encountered. A few men and women were wandering around in white coats that concealed fairly normal-looking clothes. They looked like a cross between doctors and extremely well-prepared Plant maintenance crews.

Meryl felt her stomach curl further into her body cavity, and she really started looking around.

They had entered what looked to be a research area of sorts. There were monitors everywhere, far more than she had ever seen in all the ships she'd had the fortune to see. People moved back and forth silently, carrying vials or clear plastic plates containing dozens of tiny wells. The lights were quite bright, so bright even her shadow was dimmed.

He gestured towards a door on the far left. "If you would follow me . . ."

Every step brought a feeling of dread. She knew exactly where this was going. This was going straight to a cold-sleep tube. She'd seen them, in Doc's ship, row after row of empty tubes. Had that been what was missing from the previous chamber? Cold-sleep tubes? Was that their answer to the 'problem' of Vash and Knives? Freezing them until they ran out of power?

"Another part of the project is to learn how to manufacture Plants," he continued, a little more softly now that there were other people around. "Many have been depleted since the Great Fall and learning how to produce more would definitely assist us with the gradual, successful terraforming of Gunsmoke."

They were led four stairs to another chamber, this one also protected by a sliding door. Meryl barely had the heart to look up, afraid of what she was going to see. A frosted window. A sleeping face.

What if he hadn't done what he had done in Hondelic? Would these . . . these people have gone to these extremes? Clearly Bryan didn't realize the deal Vash and Knives had struck, he had no idea what he'd done. Doomed them all. If Knives ever found this place, saw his brother like that –

But when she steeled her heart and raised her eyes, she didn't see anything resembling a sleep tube. She saw something that looked very much like a cleaner version of a Plant control room.

"Knives' prison?" How was Elizabeth staying so calm through all this? Didn't she realize what this psycho was really saying?

"Just so," Bryan agreed. "We've confirmed that it will remain a safe environment despite the anticipated power spikes, so the only thing remaining is to locate the Plant and overwhelm it."

He said it so simply. Overwhelm Knives. Like it could be done by a few dark grey soldiers with their toy rifles.

Overwhelm it.

Not him.

Meryl looked out the main window at a glowing bulb, noting this room was full of people in the white coats. While there was no dreaded cold-sleep chamber, there was a hideously awkward chair, encased in a metal frame and track that made it appear as though it could be turned completely upside down if it was desired. No one was currently in it, but she'd seen technology like that once before.

The entire room was nothing but Lost Technology. Every person in a white coat had some kind of communication device in their ear. A much older gentleman, with graying hair and cool green eyes noted their entrance and strode over.

"We're entertaining tours now?" the man inquired mildly.

"Dr. Greer," Bryan greeted him. "May I present Meryl Stryfe and Elizabeth Boulaise. They've agreed to assist us with the restoration projects."

Meryl held out her hand in a business-like manner, and the doctor smiled a bit humorlessly as he shook it. "You're quite the legend around here, young lady. It's good to finally put a name to a face."

The keen interest in the doctor's eyes had faded slightly as he'd spoken, but perked up as he took Elizabeth's hand. "I've heard a great deal about your recent modifications to Plant technology," he said respectfully. "While of course it wasn't without its mistakes, you definitely have a gift."

Elizabeth smiled at the backhanded compliment, inclining her head slightly. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, doctor," she replied kindly. "I'm not familiar with your work."

"Ah ah ah! And how could I put such a lovely woman at such a despicable disadvantage," he said in mock horror. "If I might borrow her for just a moment, commander?"

Bryan nodded once, and Dr. Greer led her gently by the hand to a series of monitors and meters.

Commander.

The commander that had something too important to handle to see them?

She stared at him accusingly, and he smiled slightly. "Until you signed the non-disclosure agreement, it was essential my rank was not revealed," he offered by way of explanation. "You have me at a disadvantage as well, Meryl Stryfe. I never imagined someone who wrote such stirring reports would be handling this so calmly."

She didn't know why she was handling this so calmly. She didn't feel calm at all. She felt as though she were standing in a throng of blank-eyed men who were slowly advancing on her, unable to figure out why they were attacking and how to get away.

Vash had had to take a life to get her out of that situation. She wasn't going to make him do it again.

"Stirring . .. reports?"

Surely he didn't mean –

"Most of our information on Vash the Stampede came from the reports you sent to Bernardelli," the commander murmured. "This is the second time you've been on my ship, if I recall correctly."

Her head was spinning, and she glanced again at Elizabeth, deep in conversation over some readings. No help.

"You – you were here?"

He nodded. "It was quite fortunate, actually. Until then we hadn't realized that Vash the Stampede was a Plant. Shutting down all power production certainly got our attention," he added dryly. "I believe Dr. Greer and Elizabeth have a great deal to discuss, so if you'd follow me, I will give you what information we have on your lost partner."

"How? Why didn't we see you?" She stopped dead, anger coursing through her. "Why didn't you call off the robots when they attacked the passengers on that bus? That little girl?"

Her raised voice was attracting attention, but she didn't care. How could he so coldly stand there and admit to all but ordering helpless people to be injured, possibly killed?

"Originally they were designed to be a way of preventing lost buses – exactly like yours – from bothering our site. However, you saw how poorly that idea worked. They were programmed to cause minor injuries only. The child was quite safe with them. We were only intending to frighten away the locals. They picked a rather – unfortunate place to chart one of their most-traveled roads."

He smiled again, as though she could sympathize with him. She found not a shred. "Why didn't you make yourselves known?"

He blinked, taken aback. "To what end?" he asked. "Our internal security was fairly lax at the time, most of our crew in cold-sleep while we worked on plans to salvage what was left of the original SEEDs resources. Only in the last two years have we woken the majority of the technicians you see working now."

So everyone had been sleeping. But if Vash cut the power –

He seemed to see the question in her eyes. "More than a few were woken that afternoon," he confirmed. "Luckily, secondary systems kicked in quickly enough to retain power to about half the tubes. Since the New Kennedy was a military vessel, not a civilian one, we were carrying mostly hard supplies – planes, large earth movers. We have a current crew of one hundred and fifty-two."

He started to walk again, but she didn't move. Something flickered in her peripheral vision, and again, she glanced without thinking.

It was the bulb. It had restored itself almost immediately, but as she watched, it flickered again. One of the technicians hurried over to Dr. Greer, who bowed his head briefly before dismissing the technician. He said something else to Elizabeth, who nodded vaguely, still staring at the screens. Then he headed towards the uncomfortable-looking chair.

"I believe it is about to get very busy in here. If you would please follow me –"

But she didn't. She stared at the bulb. There was nothing to see, it was golden yellow just like the one in Collins. Clearly there was a Plant inside, but he'd said it was Knives' prison, so –

She put a shaking hand to her mouth.

No. If that were true, Elizabeth would have put that stupid chair through the glass. It was just another Plant, being forced to spike energy so they had some way of measuring, of safeguarding.

Elizabeth was just watching the meters, calmly. Her hands were at her sides, fingers relaxed, shoulders relaxed. Utterly at home amid all this technology. She was staring at one monitor in particular, and Meryl noticed that image was the one projected on the largest of the screens. She wasn't even sure what it represented, just a ball of white in a square of black, but not quite a ball, it was changing shape seemingly at random.

The white flickered in time with the yellow of the bulb.

Was the –

She felt a gentle hand on her arm, but she didn't react. The hand began to guide her out the door; she almost fell over as he gently but firmly pulled her. His grip pinched slightly as he caught her weight, and her blood chilled.

"Wait," she said weakly. It just couldn't be. It just couldn't.

She stumbled under his firm but unrelenting grasp, eyes glued to the monitor. It flickered again, and when the white reappeared, for just an instant it was an outline. She could make out the legs of the Plant, and something else –

An arm? A wing?

The shape wasn't right at all. They were all slender, fragile little things, but if that black was the rest of the bulb, this Plant would have been –

Would have been –

"That isn't –"

And then he'd successfully gotten her out of the room. She stumbled down the four steps almost sightlessly, the monitor image burned onto her retinas. It hadn't been. It couldn't have.

It wouldn't work, her brain stuttered. You couldn't just take –

She stumbled, and without knowing quite how, found herself seated in another one of the pudding chairs. Voices were speaking around her, but she just shook her head slightly, trying to shake them off like flies.

Oh, god.

Her hand was still over her mouth, and she felt it curl tighter and tighter, holding it against her quivering lips.

Oh, god.

"How could you?" she breathed. She didn't listen to the voices' reasons. "He saved your lives. He saved all of you . . ."

Oh no. No no no no no . . .

She blinked, looking around her. She saw faces. She saw white. She saw dark grey. She saw a black rifle.

She stood, a little unsteadily, shaking off gentle hands that reached out to support her. Stumbled again, a little closer to the dark grey. A little closer.

It would shoot through the control room glass. It had to.

She lunged, making contact. Everything felt numb, she knew her fingers had wrapped around the barrel though she could barely feel the cold metal. Her fist struck the guard's face squarely, and she wrenched the weapon free –

But even in the short amount of time it took her to turn, to chase away the white, she couldn't feel the gun anymore. She knew it was still in her hands, but she couldn't see it. She couldn't see anything at all. Voices were talking, but it was just a buzz in her ears. Nothing made sense.

Oh, please. Please, no.

Vash.

- . -

**Author's Notes**: Important note: I made up Elizabeth's last name. I looked everywhere, and couldn't find a reference, so I'm not sure she ever had one. If she does, please correct me and I'll edit the chapter.

This chapter got a little carried away, but since I'm about to head out and not come back for a long time gasp! I wanted to throw it out there for you folks. This is by far the longest and quickest-written chapter of the story, and I apologize in advance for the typos that are likely to be in it. I caught what I could see on a read-through, but unfortunately I am new to the fandom and don't have a beta-reader. But I'm cute, and I write fic payment.

Alaena – by all means, point that stuff out! I need all the help I can get. ; )

I will probably only be able to get one more chapter squeezed in before I go, and I apologize in advance for spoiling you only to make you wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Author's notes at the end.

- . -

As she pulled the plastic back, the food actually started to sizzle.

Millie stared, fascinated despite herself as the . . . meat, she supposed, literally began to cook itself before her eyes. The black tray also contained a compartment filled with green beans that were starting to bubble around the edges and another just like it, this one containing carrots. She finished pulling the plastic film away, and the cooking continued in earnest.

Her stomach still turned at the thought of eating, but at least opening the blue box marked S M R E and allowing it to bake itself indicated that she was eventually going to obey the command.

Knives had finished giving his time to cook, having exposed the contents of his box to air several minutes before he'd hit her over the head with her own, literally. He was now alternating between taking bites and looking over a slew of small, page-sized squares of transparent plastic.

There were at least three dozen spread in front of her, in complete disarray, and she tried very hard to pull her attention back to them. They were difficult to read; her hands kept shaking when she held them up. There was neat black type on each one, but the surface of the desk was a nut brown, so each one had to be held up against a lighter background to be read.

And, as they were transparent, they allowed her to see whatever background she chose to read them against, as well.

She hadn't had much chance to see the room prior to Knives' finding and engaging the overhead lights, and while they cast significantly more illumination on the room than the single lamp had done in the previous, she wished fervently for darkness.

She didn't understand how he could eat, after -

Millie carefully didn't face their direction, but she could see them anyway. Had seen them as she'd walked to the desk, again at his direction. They'd been young, no older than late twenties, and neither her warning nor their guns had done them the slightest good. She'd spent a half-hour or more curled where he'd shoved her, behind the crates, trying to block out the sound of their deaths.

She didn't know how he'd understood the words through their screams. She wasn't sure there had even been words. She'd crammed her fingers in her ears and hummed as loudly as she dared, trying to pretend she couldn't hear.

Killing was wrong. But she knew better than anyone that she couldn't have stopped him. Any attempt would have been easily rebuffed, ending in a stinging bruise at best and dead herself at worst.

So she'd done nothing. Millie swallowed hard as her stomach turned again at the memory of watching the blood still oozing from their deeper wounds.

She couldn't do it again. Nothing. It was worse than being hurt. It was worse than anything she'd ever done. She knew she couldn't have changed their fate, but that knowledge was a cold lump in her throat. They died in agony, and she had agreed to help the one that had killed them.

Four men had died before her in the last twenty-four hours. She needed to help Mr. Knives find Mr. Vash without giving him the opportunity to kill more people. There had to be a way, somewhere –

She bit her lip lightly, picking at the scabs there. She'd cut it quite deeply when he'd struck her in the truck, and now that the drugs meant for Knives were finally leaving her system, she was noticing more pain. Her headache was more hollow, and not getting any better as her concentration improved. Her eyes ached as she forced them to focus on the words, and her right leg still stung from its impact with the hard ground.

Some part of her mind realized he had shoved her aside with that much force not only to make the point to her that she needed to respond more quickly to him, but to knock her out of harm's way. Behind the crates, the stray bullets couldn't hit her. The fact that he wanted to keep her alive filled her not with hope, but something colder. It meant he wasn't done with the humans yet. It meant he needed her to do something else. Something he'd already planned.

But it also meant she still had an opportunity. A chance to help him help Mr. Vash, a chance to demonstrate that not all humans were . . . were the horrible spiders he kept calling them. A chance to save not just Mr. Vash, but Meryl and Elizabeth and everyone else. Her family. The chief. Kaite. Mr. Wolfwood's orphans.

She had to focus on that chance. She couldn't afford to waste it. And she couldn't help anyone if she let Mr. Knives kill her, not here.

Millie took a deep breath, fighting down the despairing thought that the justification didn't make her feel any better. Then she looked back down at the desk.

The tray was finished cooking, steaming beside the light blue paper box that had enclosed it. He'd thrown it at her to get her attention after he'd finished, having pulled it from one of the crates. The men here had been stockpiling food and weapons. Their guns were now on the table besides Knives, large and rather blocky-looking with a strange canister on top emitting the red light.

Probably it put a dot on whatever you were aiming at, like a sight but easier to use.

She picked up a few of the transparent pages, setting them down on the blue box to try to sort through the ones she'd read and the ones she hadn't. They were reports of some kind, in a memo format. On the light blue box, she was able to read the stack until about four deep, when the words started blending together too much to make out. They were easy enough to read in piles of twos or threes, and in this way she was able to keep her eyes down on the desk, away from the blood that seemed to be wherever she looked.

And that allowed her to choke down some of the food.

Despite her emotional turmoil, her stomach was glad to accept something that wasn't her own blood, and she finished it much more quickly than she would have thought. She'd also finished reading the transparencies. Nothing had said much of anything. Numbers of men and supplies, plans to transport them, and disaster procedures.

In case of mass casualties or destruction of shipping lines.

She wanted to think that was planning against sandstorms or other natural disasters, but the slim, silver syringe sitting next to the guns made it difficult to cling to that happier explanation. And now that she was done reading and eating, she no longer had anything to distract her from him.

He was also finishing his pile of reports, eyes flat but relaxed. He was leaning back in a familiar-looking folding chair, feet propped up on the desk beside his emptied tray of food, the very picture of casual indifference. The fact that he was not in a hurry worried her; perhaps these men had not had the information he was looking for. Perhaps he needed her to 'spring the trap,' so to speak, on others like them.

They'd been dressed very similarly to the last pair, though the guns and some strange, small boxes on their belts had been new. Both of those boxes were currently in Knives' possession, sitting in his lap and serving as his own light backdrop to read the reports against. He was reading them one at a time, so it was taking him longer. She waited patiently until he was done, careful not to stare or move.

He gracefully unfolded himself from the table, placing one of the grey boxes on the table. The other he kept in his hands, tapping the buttons. After a few moments, he tossed the device back towards the bodies. Millie turned away at the slightly soggy sound of the device landing on one of the men.

Knives smiled at her, and she turned her eyes away from him as well.

"Was there any pertinent information?"

She shook her head, staring at the desk. "No."

"There are canteens in the crate behind you. Bring a few along."

She turned without a word, proceeding directly to the faux wooden crate in question. He was right; though it wasn't opened, when she worked one of the poorly-nailed boards loose, she found it was filled with clear, plastic liter bottles of water. She grabbed five, guessing that a few were more than several, and turned to find Knives already walking out of the warehouse, the way they'd come.

She followed him, having to walk quickly to match his long strides. She could easily outwalk Meryl, but years of working with the shorter girl had taught her to saunter and shorten her stride to cater to the other girl's gait.

Oh, Meryl. Please don't be looking for me. Please have stayed in New Phoenix.

That was one place she was certain Knives wouldn't be returning to shortly. It made that town the safest place for her right now. She wasn't certain which city they were outside of now, but she had a bad feeling it was Inepral City. It was still too distant to make out the city, let alone what type of Plants they had, but if Knives was planning on destroying it before they moved on to the next . . .

But he hadn't destroyed New Phoenix, he'd just –

Millie stopped dead in her tracks.

She didn't know if he'd destroyed New Phoenix. She'd been unconscious, she hadn't woken until they were far away into the desert.

Why hadn't it occurred to her before? Millie bit back a low moan, tearing at the tender scabs on her bottom lip. Oh, please. Please don't let anything have happened to her.

Knives never stopped moving, and after an agonizing moment of wondering if she should ask him, she continued after him. Their walk through the desert back to the truck was completely silent, and when he slipped behind the wheel and turned the engine over, she realized if she didn't hurry he was going to leave her.

She barely hopped into the cab before the vehicle was in motion, and she gracelessly dumped the water bottles to the floor of the truck before yanking the door closed. Again, Mr. Knives headed unerringly in a single direction, as though he had a destination in mind.

Had he found something . . .?

Was he going to spare the city they were just outside of, or was he heading right for it?

Hours had passed since she'd left the truck, and it was clear the suns were well on their way towards dusk. She pulled down the visor to block some of the glare, and took a deep breath.

"Mr. Knives?"

He sighed. "Is your hearing as inferior as the rest of you, spider?"

She blinked, nonplussed. Had he –

He'd warned her that he would kill her if she kept questioning him.

Millie returned her gaze to the floor and closed her mouth.

And did nothing.

Barely half an ile passed before she felt like grinding her teeth. Was she so petrified of him? If she didn't speak with him, take the opportunity, then she really would have done nothing but help him kill. And that wasn't why she was helping him. She was helping him to help Mr. Vash. Because helping Mr. Vash was right. She squared her shoulders and turned back to him, looking at him directly.

"Did you destroy New Phoenix?"

There. She'd said it.

Knives was silent a long time. "Spider," he finally replied, "do you know why I continue to allow your defiance?"

He still wasn't looking at her, which made staring at his profile a little easier than it might otherwise have been.

"You promised Mr. Vash-"

"Are you so familiar with the terms of our 'promise'?"

His tone was very conversational, which was the first indication to her that she had just said something she shouldn't have. Her voice faltered a little.

"I-I know-"

"Nothing," he finished for her. "Part of this 'promise' you continue to cling to is the destruction of New Phoenix, and every other human settlement down to the last farmstead. And do you know by whose hand all those humans will die?"

He finally turned to look at her, and meeting his eyes was much easier than it should have been. They weren't angry, or flat, or glaring, or mocking. They were simply watching.

Surely he couldn't be saying –

"My brother 'promised' the death of every spider on this planet should his precious humans resist his ridiculous vision." The corner of his mouth turned up. "Knowing this was inevitable, I readily agreed. And that is why I tolerate your insolence, spider."

Millie blinked at him. Mr. Vash would never agree to that. He would never promise something he couldn't do, would never promise away the lives of everyone on Gunsmoke, and certainly not by his own hand –

"I don't think your hearing is any better than mine!" she heard her voice rise sharply. "Whatever the terms of your agreement, Mr. Vash would never say something like that! He's not capable of killing anyone!"

"You deny what you saw with your own eyes?"

"You didn't give him a choice!" she shot back. "You sent Mr. Legato knowing he would force Mr. Vash to kill him! You did that on purpose!"

"Your kind is so full of contradictions," Knives murmured coolly. "You believe that my dear brother is incapable of killing and yet admit he has done just that with the next breath."

Millie felt her hands curling into fists, and she had to struggle to keep them at her sides. "That's not the same and you know it!"

"Vash made his own choice." Knives' voice indicated he was losing patience, though his face was still calm. "He always does."

"And he made the choice to spare your life!" she cried. "He didn't do that so you could kill everyone!"

Knives raised an eyebrow and turned back to the desert, effectively dismissing her. "When we arrive, I will allow you to ask him about the terms of our agreement. Perhaps dying by his hand will convince you."

She turned away from him, shaking. That was something she knew without a doubt. Mr. Vash would never hurt her. Never. He'd killed to protect her from harm. He'd gone against his very ideals to save her. Her and Meryl both.

And he hadn't answered her question, either. She was so furious it took her iles to grasp the full meaning of what he'd said.

"You know where he is?" Her voice was tight, but at least it was civil.

Knives actually laughed. He was laughing at her! "Of course, spider. Weren't you listening?"

She refused to rise to the bait. "Does that mean he's okay?"

"Yes, I'm certain the other humans are treating him with the respect and deference they always show him." The humor evaporated from his voice as though it had never been. "There are two pistols on the seat beside you. Pick them up."

Millie glanced down at her left, startled to see that he was correct. The two blocky pistols were laying there innocuously next to the single remaining grey – computer, she guessed. She hadn't noticed them in her hurry to get into the truck and subsequent conversation. She glanced back at him, and even in his profile she could see that he was waiting for the inevitable question.

She hesitantly reached out, watching him for a reaction. Surely this was another test, another way for him to hammer home his point. But he did nothing, not even after she had actually picked them up. They were light in her hands, heavier than Meryl's derringers but much lighter than Mr. Vash's gun. Despite their bulky appearance, they were well-balanced. She wasn't accustomed to having two weapons, but then again, her stun gun was back in the hotel room in New Phoenix –

She swallowed back the words and just looked at the guns. After a time she identified the safety, the clip release and catch, and the type of action. There was also a button that probably turned the red light on and off.

"I am going to identify a series of targets," he continued suddenly, startling her. "For example, we are approaching a large chunk of limestone on the right-hand side of the vehicle. For every target I identify, you will fire with both weapons, ideally striking the target with both. For every bullet that misses a target, Vash will put one into you. You will practice until both clips are empty."

Millie continued to stare at the pistols. That was . . . impossible. And horrible. If Mr. Knives was really telling the truth, if Mr. Vash had really had to promise something so awful to get Mr. Knives to agree . . . shooting her once would be impossible for him. If he had to do it twice, or three times –

How could he be so cruel to his own brother?

She wanted to ask him, but she was sure he wouldn't respond. He was looking at her again, waiting for the question, daring her to ask it. She was pretty sure she could hit something as large as the rock he'd pointed out, but the truck was bouncing everywhere and she'd never really practiced just left-handed –

He needed her to shoot accurately. To shoot people accurately.

He wanted her to help him kill the people that had kidnapped Mr. Vash.

She almost dropped the weapons. That was, if possible, the only thing worse than doing nothing. That was the reason she carried a stun-gun instead of something more powerful. That was a promise she had made a very long time ago, when she'd agreed to take on the most dangerous job Bernardelli had to offer. That was the reason she'd argued with Mr. Priest.

But she had promised to help Mr. Knives. He was honestly worried for his brother's safety. And if he was giving her the weapons, weapons she could turn on him, he must actually require that help. And maybe once they found Mr. Vash, if he was okay, he could explain what he must have meant in their agreement, or at least force Mr. Knives to reconsider their terms.

And after all, Mr. Vash and Meryl carried guns. And she'd seen both of them use them time and time again to only disarm their enemies, or cause only light wounds. If she could shoot these guns accurately enough, she wouldn't have to kill anyone. She could just shoot their weapons away, like Meryl and Mr. Vash did!

Millie took a deep breath, and shifted to face the window. The rock on the right-hand side was fairly close, and fairly large, and she reached up with her thumbs to turn on the red dot sights.

- . -

Elizabeth watched the light spectrum shift, noting the intensity and regularity of the waves. Or rather, the lack thereof. She was rather hoping they had adjusted their frequency mappings from the regular formats, but a part of her doubted it.

That spike, and the one beside it, she'd always had a hunch about. It made sense, considering the types of energy that had been emitted by the SEEDs' defensive cannons. And what else was an Angel Arm but a tiny version of a giant space gun?

The doors reopened, and she saw three ghosts in her peripheral vision. Two of them stopped to speak with Dr. Greer, and she waited another breath before looking up and catching his eye. He seemed to have expected it; he gave her an insincere smile and a nod of his head, and she turned as if satisfied and returned her gaze to the screen.

Obviously whatever scene Meryl had decided to make outside the main control room had been contained, or at least moved to a more appropriate venue.

It was interesting how little Vash had changed, at least to her eye. True, all she could see was an outline, but she'd seen him hold himself in the exact same position when sleeping. She was no doctor, and she had never had much of an interest in the application of chemicals directly to a Plant, so the screen to her left, monitoring drug and fluid input, meant very little to her.

She'd always relied on the computer systems to compensate based on a series of commands, position of the inner bulb to the outer, or a script, and she had John or Sunjy check the logs if she felt the calibration was off. And she only felt the calibration was off if she didn't get exactly what she expected out of a Plant after she'd double-checked her attitude, commands, and scripts. And since it would be downright rude for her to take a terminal and see what sorts of scripts Dr. Greer was running without an invitation, the best she could do was wait for him to make that invitation.

He had a hurried conference with the two suited technicians, then came to join her. He was being fairly professional, which she found vaguely irritating, since he was hiding his other intentions quite poorly. She greeted him with a nod as he returned, and he clasped his hands apologetically.

"I do hate to tell you this, but it appears your companion was overcome with emotion, and has accepted a sedative. She's resting comfortably in one of the suites."

Ah. Meryl tried to take someone's weapon away and was clubbed over the head by an overzealous guard. They'd keep her out until the most obvious signs of the concussion had cleared. Elizabeth shook her head regretfully. Idiot woman.

"She was in love with him, once," she said softly, so the other technicians wouldn't overhear. "Her reaction isn't surprising."

Dr. Greer's eyebrows climbed for his hairline. "You mean to say –"

She just nodded, returning her gaze to the spectrum analysis. "You may not know this, Dr. Greer, but he was raised from birth as a human. Vash the Stampede is very charming when he wants to be."

The other scientist moved sharply beside her, and she stilled a reflexive attempt to swat him out of her personal space. "Yes, well, naturally I didn't get much of a chance to speak to the Plant. We found it to be fairly unsocial, though I believe now that we've returned it to a more natural state it's much happier." There was a note of pride in his voice.

Ah, of course. Vash probably hadn't willingly manifested his Angel Arm, and if he kept his humanoid form, he wouldn't emit enough energy to do much more than create a blip on the most sensitive equipment.

"So you were the one that successfully integrated him with the bulb systems?"

Dr. Greer clapped his hands together. "Just so, Ms. Boulaise. Of course, Dr. Shrew is claiming most of the credit for finally stabilizing the Plant's physiology. It was rather difficult, admittedly. It took us almost forty-eight hours longer than anticipated to fully adapt the Plant to the bulb."

She nodded, gesturing at the display. "Are you using one of the normal templates for your energy graphing, or have you tailored this one specifically?"

He chuckled, taking a seat at the nearest terminal. "It's tailored specifically to this Plant," he replied. "Some quirk of this Plant sends it into a period of hibernation every few hours. The longest sustainable output we've recorded from it is about five hours. As you can see, this is the beginning of the destabilization period between production and hibernation."

He pulled up a line graph and gestured at the spikes and valleys. "The unit of time is an hour, so you can see this graph represents the last four days. The production generation time elongated in fairly predictable increments until earlier today."

She studied the graph carefully, noting the highest spikes. It wasn't even a fraction of the energy that had been released in the destruction of July and Augusta, but it didn't cause so much as a two percent compensation in the bulb's containment system.

"You haven't spiked him to his full potential."

The scientist eyed her appraisingly. "Forgive me, Ms. Boulaise, but may I inquire what work you've done with the Plant in this area?"

She laughed pleasantly. "I'm afraid my only experiences with Vash's Plant-derived abilities are observations. My family lived in July."

He was quiet a long moment. "Forgive my boldness, but I was wondering why you seemed less distressed than your companion."

She smiled again and shook her head. "Meryl Stryfe is a companion in the loosest sense of the word. She and I work together because we have no choice."

He was silent, and she continued at his unspoken question. "Whether Knives forced his hand or Vash lost control of his abilities, the end result was the destruction of my home and the death of my parents." She tried to make her tone conversational. "Therefore any feasible means of preventing such an occurrence from happening again have my full and utmost cooperation and efforts, doctor."

He nodded slowly. "I don't think this Plant meant any harm," he finally volunteered. "It must have been difficult to exist for such a time in such an unnatural state."

She shrugged. "He was taught to cope by humans, which meant turning to alcohol." Then she looked at the engineer pointedly. "No matter what he is, Dr. Greer, he is definitely a 'he,' in behavior if nothing else."

The doctor shook his head. "You'll forgive my lack of the pronoun," he said apologetically, and for once it sounded as if he truly was sorry. "Dr. Shrew is unpleasant at best, and dislikes all manner of technical inaccuracies, even for the sake of politeness."

More Dr. Shrew again. "How closely have you been forced to work with such an unpleasant colleague?"

He frowned, closing the line graph and pulling up a significantly more complex database. "Closer than I'd like," he admitted in a low voice. "Obviously, to secure the bulb we had to make significant physical repairs to this Plant, and given it was already so badly damaged by the time we were able to capture it . . ." He blew out his cheeks in a sigh. "At the end of this destabilization period we'll be pulling the Plant from the bulb, and you'll get to see Dr. Shrew in her element."

"I can hardly wait," Elizabeth responded dryly, and Dr. Greer laughed.

"Listen to me, talking badly about a colleague. The commander would have my head. Please, take everything I've told you with a grain of salt. If anyone can stabilize my Angel outside of the bulb, it will be her."

Elizabeth nodded, looking over the database. Much of the data meant nothing to her, compounds and amounts and reaction measurements in decimal points. Clearly it was meant to show her the health of the Plant, but she wasn't sure negative numbers were any worse than positive numbers, and both were sprinkled liberally through the database.

He waited patiently for her to review the data, and when she nodded he closed the database to pull up the familiar graphs. "We should see three more significant drops, and then I'm afraid the show is over until the other Plant is ready for insertion."

She nodded, straightening slowly and stretching her back luxuriously. "I've spent the last day traveling," she said by way of explanation, and the doctor almost forgot to acknowledge it.

"Of course, of course. You must be exhausted. How insensitive of me, to monopolize your time in this fashion!"

She shook her head, raising a graceful hand to protest. "The only grudge I bear you is that I was brought into this project so late. I've just finished training two teams of engineers that I'll have to immediately dismiss."

He tsked sympathetically. "I would wait before I sent out the pink slips. Containing the other Plant is my portion of this project, but you may want to speak with," and he winced, "dare I say it, Dr. Shrew, before you abandon the current solar projects." He began walking back towards the main door, and she reluctantly followed.

"Of course, that kind of power generation will never replace a Plant for goods production, but if the only types of Angels we can manufacture are like this one, we may need to rely on your solar plants for the bulk of electrical and heating energies."

"Speaking as an engineer, I prefer the first generation Plants," she laughed, and he joined her. Then she stopped walking, effectively stopping his attempted exit. "Speaking of individual Plants, you do know Knives will be less tractable than you found Vash. Is the plan to capture him using the same method?"

Dr. Greer shook his head, striding over to the bulb control chair to sign a clipboard. "I rather doubt it. As you said, this Plant's penchant for alcohol was not unnoticed, thanks to the journaling efforts of Ms. Stryfe. This Angel's capture was literally as easy as offering a free drink. I believe they chose a simple sedative, which worked on the Plant's physiology well enough. In Knives' case, I'm not certain of the method but the more potent, customized Plant inhibitors will be put into use."

She glanced out at the flickering bulb again, noting the second dip the engineer had predicted. "Please forgive my rudeness, as I've only just seen a mere glance of your work, but from personal interaction with Knives I can tell you that underestimating him will result in the death of everyone on this ship. On the chance the inhibitors are less than successful, have you yet implemented . . . shall we say more permanent measures?"

His look was a little grim, but he nodded. "Thank you for your concerns, and your candor." Again, he seemed sincere. "Should the inner bulb reach a certain level of containment stress, there are explosives placed at the valve. The resulting explosion and heat will incinerate even a fully powered Plant."

She nodded, suddenly noticing the mirror monitors on the ceiling. Of course. It would be more comfortable to adjust the attitude of the bulbs if you didn't have to crane your neck at the wall all the time. "I don't believe your commander realizes how bad his timing truly is. Is there a way I can meet with both of you – and anyone else at a significant level of this project – to give you all what information I have?"

He seemed surprised, but hid it well. "Of course, Elizabeth. I'll suggest it to him the next time I see him. You're welcome to stay for the extraction, of course, but I don't imagine it will be pleasant."

She nodded, trying for a delicate shade of green. "I do believe I can be of more use elsewhere. Oh," she added, as if just remembering something, "as Meryl is resting, might I have the information on her partner, Millie Thompson? I've worked with her a bit more closely than Meryl and I am concerned for her safety."

Dr. Greer gestured to one of his technicians, pointing out something on a clipboard before reaching out without turning to grasp her elbow. He steered her unerringly towards the main door, not meeting her gaze until they exited the main control room.

He licked his lips, oddly ill at ease, and she inclined her head a little. "Not good news, I take it?"

He pursed his lips. "I believe the commander is better suited to tell you this," he finally said, as though weighing each word. "However, I can tell you that your warning regarding Knives' character does not seem to be inaccurate. You've suffered dearly because of the mishandling of these Plants, and I do sympathize."

Elizabeth just stared at him. "Bryan told us that she'd been taken in by one of his teams for safekeeping, and that the team had not checked in."

Dr. Greer spread his hands helplessly. "They were murdered, I'm afraid."

She took a step back, putting out a hand to catch the stair banister. " . . . I . . . I see. And Millie . . ?"

He shook his head. "I don't know if her body was recovered. I'll ask Private Asoaurd to arrange for the information to be displayed in your suite."

"But –" She hesitated, swallowing hard. "That would mean Knives knew of a plot to contain him."

Dr. Greer's eyes were grim. "Frankly, I think everyone's a little surprised Knives hasn't knocked on our front door yet. I believe odds are on tomorrow at the latest, which is why we need to clear and clean the bulb for its permanent occupant."

She nodded, distracted, and he helped her down the four stairs. "I'm afraid I'm needed here, but the lieutenant will escort you to your suite. I look forward to working with you." His mind was obviously on other things, and he puttered back into the control room without looking back.

The lieutenant was another uniform, extending his arm charmingly to her. She accepted it gracelessly, eyes blank and turned inward in thought. They would assume her devastated by the news, so would not be expecting conversation.

Was that what had set Meryl off? The news that Knives had wised up to this plan before they had? She shuddered to think of what Knives might have done to Millie. As one of the women closest to Vash, and the only one besides her allowed into his Eden . . .

All the more reason to contain him. Vash's plan had gone up in smoke, and though Meryl didn't know the details of the compromise, Elizabeth had been privy to a good deal of it. It seemed like only days ago Vash had been slumped in the control room with her in New Oregon, humorlessly revealing the possible cost of their failure.

If Knives wasn't stopped before he reclaimed Vash, they were all dead. Every last soul on Gunsmoke except the Plants. And god help them if Knives learned they'd put Vash in a bulb. Extermination by bright white light would be paradise in comparison to the alternative.

God help them.

- . -

He idly kicked a charred piece of metal, watching it bounce unevenly across the blackened ground. Part of him felt a little guilt, but the vast majority of him felt sunburned and grateful.

Grateful his ass hadn't gone up in smoke. Grateful Big John didn't move too fast. If he'd noticed that power flux any faster, Josh'd have been crisped along with the shed.

And it just didn't make any damned sense.

He followed the fairly random path the slag had made, kicking it twice for good measure. It complained with the poisoned twang of badly molded metal and leapt reluctantly under the main bulb body.

Josh glared at the ground. Between the fact some of it had been melted to glass and the rest was blackened, he wasn't going to find that piece of slag in the dusk with two hands and a flashlight. Then again, if he waited till morning, of course, he'd be the 'neer to blow a tire on it hauling refuse under the housing. And since they'd ditched the Plant in favor of solar plants, it wasn't like they could just make a new one, neither.

Cussing in his slow and methodical way, Josh turned and headed back to the coupling station, plucking the filthy yellow flashlight out of the emergency kit and clicking it on. The beam was weak and pitiful against the darkness that was a Plant without its Plant. No one installed lights near the bulb housing – wasn't like you needed it. A Plant lit that bulb just as nice as a filament day and night, so why have redundant lighting. And they'd ripped down the previous bulb housings and let the control room floods take care of that dark spot in the other plants.

This one just had to be special.

He made his way back across the dimly lit area, noting the suns had completely finished their dive in the time it had taken him to walk to the coupling station and back. Damned suns. Everything had to burn here. Nothing ever froze. Just once he'd like to see a freezing problem instead. Something that melted at a temperature that didn't send your skin up in flames.

Like ice cream. Ice cream couplings.

He waved the beam of light around, picking out the glittering of the large swatches of glass. They'd gotten most of the crap up that day, but there'd still be half a day's work evening out the ground tomorrow. Maybe Miss Elizabeth would be in a better mood once everything was straightened out. They hadn't heard nothing from those two birds that talked the muckity-mucks into these Plant upgrades, so maybe the delay wasn't such a bad thing.

Thing was, they were getting bored. Bored bored bored. And a bored 'neer was just about as good as a bad one.

Bored 'neers kicked slag into places where unwary tires would pick it up the next morning.

He cussed some more, without much heat, welcoming the cooling breeze. The sand was still hotter than jumpin' oil in a skillet, so it wasn't much, but he was used to not much. Getting user to it at every turn.

Better than a whole lot, for sure. A whole lot of booze wasn't no good, and neither was a whole lot of bad luck. And that's what they'd had, all right. Nothing but bad luck at this site. Ghosts or Plants or just damned bad luck.

Like that shed. Just wasn't no way it could have accidentally gone up like that. Like a fluid leak or something. Like they wouldn't have noticed it when they'd busted in to get the aux power up after the coupling blew.

Like he hadn't been leading the crew that had gotten the battery attached and back up. Like they hadn't busted tail to do it. Like they wouldn't have smelled the fumes. Like none of 'em wouldn't have been aching from the poison the next damn day.

Nope. Just didn't make no damn sense.

Course, neither did ghosts. He'd been an engineer long enough to respect Miss Elizabeth, and that was long enough to know . . . whatever it was he was thinkin' about.

Dammit. Where was that piece of freakin' slag anyway?

Josh tripped over something with the same mistuned metallic tone, but it was invisible to his puny flashlight. Unperturbed, he bent at the knees, snagging it about the same time two dogs rolled into the backs of his legs with enough force to take 'em right out from under him.

He fell with a grunt, legs tangled in – weren't no dogs.

He grunted again when he felt the blade slice across his chest, hurling both the flashlight and the piece of charred metal. One or the other of 'em hit, because he was left in total darkness, the blood running down his chest like a line of sand fleas.

He kicked the mound of something – probably one of the new hires on rounds, they weren't no good at this security stuff nohow – away from his feet, shakily rolling to his knees. Hadn't even heard 'em till they were on top of him, and even now he didn't hear the sound of retreating feet. Damn charred ground wasn't sandy no more. Made it easy to sneak up on a body.

He didn't know if he'd clubbed the other one or not. There was a knife involved, and he wasn't no young thing no more. He knew from experience the cut wasn't deep, but it was enough to make him dizzy.

"SKIP!" he roared into the night, staying exactly where he was.

Let whoever it was deal with Skip.

"SKIP! UNDER THE BULB!"

Skip was a youngun, and had a better flashlight too. He mopped at the blood on his chest, watching the light bobbing from the security office. Got him all the way across, from one dial to the other. He was lucky it wasn't deeper. Maybe it had just been a misjudged swipe, like for balance or something. Maybe it wasn't like he'd really had to call Skip.

Course, then again Aaron wasn't around, since he was keepin' an eye on Miss Elizabeth down at the hotel, so it was either Skip or Tallow, and Tallow was just about as useless as second-hand ass-wiping tissue.

Skip was a big fellow, real easy-going and gentle most of the time. Kinda took after Big John. But he had a mean streak in him, it came out with gin or if you yelled at him. Hollering sometimes counted. Josh couldn't see his face over the over-bright flashlight, but he figured Skip was probably borderline mad.

"There's a somebody that ain't supposed to be here around," he volunteered, still staying where he was. The beam cut through the area around them, checking into the corners were heavily reinforced metal trellis climbed up to the main Bulb housing.

None of those shadows were moving, and there was very little loose sand to give away footprints.

"Walters – hey, whoa, take it easy."

He waved away the hand that suddenly erupted from behind the flashlight, pointing at the pile of new hire.

"This guy'll be worse off than me."

The beam of light picked out the figure, exactly where Josh had left it. The clothes weren't regular issue – they looked pretty new, and not hard enough stuff for the kind of engineering work the crew did. The light picked out a strange face, freshly shaven, and blank, staring eyes.

Whoever he was, he was as dead as the piece of slag leaning against his chest.

"You know this guy, Walters?"

Josh shook his head, then grunted. "Never seen him before."

Shit. So the new hire had accidentally gone after him too, and run when he realized he'd cut his own man.

"Hey!"

This time they heard the heavy boots grinding on what little loose debris still crunched into the glass ground, and a new hire Josh did know came into the flashlight beam. Shorter guy, about the same age as Skip, rounder than he was tall.

Skip started interrogating him immediately, but Josh knew in less than a second it wasn't the guy. This guy's hands were covered in grease and nothin' else. No blood, and they weren't wiped clean neither. Looked like they hadn't been since lunch.

"You workin' this stretch alone tonight?"

The round man nodded. "Yeah, just me from the housing to the south piping. Hey – is that blood?"

Josh stayed where he was as the round man fainted into a gently snoring pile, and watched Skip's light bounce off to find a first aid kit.

Well, if it wasn't one of theirs that knifed him, and the dead guy wasn't one of theirs neither, then where the hell did that leave them?

It just didn't make no damn sense.

- . -

**Author's Notes** – Back in the country. Obviously. ; ) Sorry about the delay, but I'm very glad to see so much activity since I've been gone! This chapter's a bit shorter, but that's because it was the only graceful place to stop for a while. You may have noticed one of the main characters seeming to be a little out of character. This is not because I am jetlagged or have forgotten continuity. I will try to wrap this up in the next few chapters! And thank you for the feedback, it was really nice to come home to. ; )


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Some stepping up of the timetable ensues. There will be Author's notes at the end of the chapter.

- . -

"Come with me, please, doctor."

He reflected on the poor sentence construction, but otherwise didn't pay the guard the slightest bit of attention. The monitor that had been feeding him the energy analysis had gone completely dark about twenty minutes ago, indicating the Plant it had been monitoring had entered a state of energy conservation.

Vash had done that several times. He wasn't really sure why, but he had a hunch it had nothing to do with Vash's injuries or his missing limb. There was nothing to stop Vash from overwhelming that monitor if he wanted to. They might have forced him into manifesting like a Plant, but he was continuing to surprise them at every turn.

Maybe it had to do with the way his system was metabolizing drugs? He responded pretty normally to the usual prescriptions, simple sedatives, painkillers, and even antibiotics. Maybe the Plant inhibiting drugs changed his response to everything else? He didn't have access to the schedule Dr. Shrew was keeping Vash on, so there was no way to see if the drug exposure coincided with any of the spikes or dips. Doubtlessly the woman was bright enough to make that leap on her own.

"Doctor."

He finally spared the man a glance, rather surprised to see the guard's hand on his gun, for once. He felt his eyebrow raise of its own accord. "Or you'll shoot me, officer?" he inquired mildly. "How much use would I be then?"

"About as much as you are now," the officer retorted, and Doc actually laughed. Finally! He'd found one with a sense of humor.

"Well said, young sir. Where is it you'd like me to go?"

"Dr. Shrew has summoned you."

He shook his head slowly. "Ah, if only you had not revealed the truth. I have no desire to speak to or see that woman again, thank you."

The guard stepped fully into the room, hand still on his weapon. "I recognize your opinion, but disregard it," he replied honestly. "I will remove you from this lab by force if necessary."

What on earth –

Of course.

Doc blinked, turning to fix the young man with a penetrating stare. "And what do you think about all this, young officer?" he finally inquired. "What is your take on this situation?"

The officer wasn't so easily distracted, and approached him confidently. "I don't think. I accept orders. It's easier and I sleep a little better at night. Please come with me."

What a delightful young man! Doc chuckled as he took his feet. It was likely the last truly sincere laugh he would have in life, and he enjoyed it to the fullest. When he was done, he regretfully cast a look around the lab, watching that lightless monitor. "He's been pulled from the bulb, hasn't he."

The officer didn't respond, instead taking him by his old, wrinkled elbow. Doc allowed himself to be guided out of the room. About ten years ago he'd discovered, rather painfully, that he was no longer strong enough to resist youth. While he would have liked nothing better than a brief scuffle followed by a valiant charge through the ship with the liberated gun of the guard, he knew full well it was far outside his abilities.

Dr. Shrew would summon him out of the lab for only two reasons. One would be to show him she'd successfully installed Knives into a bulb. The second would be because her treasured patient wasn't stable enough to be brought to him.

As there was no activity on the monitor, he was fairly confident this situation would be the latter.

He was less confident in predicting his reaction to that situation.

The guard guided him down the long, familiar hallway. This ship was slightly different from his own, which had been modified to hold all the cold-sleep tubes. Clearly this ship had had a more military flavor from the start. Its cargo spaces would have held significantly larger equipment, and there was no evidence any civilians had ever been present. It was possible the man that led him down the steel, braided walkways had actually been born on Earth.

What a rude awakening. Told he would see an Eden, and trapped in a world exactly opposite from old Earth. It had been a desert of water, and now they had a desert of sand. Though he still had memories of rain aggravating his arthritis, which he'd developed at quite a young age, he would give anything for that now-alien ache.

He'd traded it for scaly dry skin, and it itched like the devil every time he lay down to sleep.

It occurred to him that it might be nice to have a little nap before Knives found the site and destroyed it. There was still the brief chance that comprehending what had been done to his brother would trigger the same response such a horrifying thing had done to him as a child, but it was not something he was going to count on. Whatever method they felt would be effective in delivering their chemicals to Knives, it would fail.

The question was not how to escape the situation. The question was not even whether he should help them try to stop Knives. All his help would equate to naught. He'd never dealt with Knives, not really. Just the bits and pieces Vash had revealed to him, and those pieces had been few and far between. He knew of their deal, he recalled how pleased the arrangement had made Vash. For a brief moment, he'd been hopeful.

He recalled that Knives was telepathic, like Vash himself. Probably telekinetic, too, while he was going through his known list of Plant psionics. He smirked to himself as he considered empathy – it was unlikely the Plant used it if he had it. And an ability to manifest Angel Arms, there was no ignoring that.

And what did all this knowledge equal? Merely the knowledge that a few soldiers with dart guns would be utterly ineffectual in the fight against Knives. Perhaps if the ship were fully functional and in the upper atmosphere of Gunsmoke it might have a shot at defending itself. As it was, buried beneath the sand, it was merely a target.

He was certain they mistakenly thought it afforded them protection. After all, some of the basements in July and Augusta had remained intact. Some of the ground floors of buildings had still been standing. In both instances, Vash had been the one releasing the energy, and he'd been releasing it at a target other than the city itself.

They thought the sand offered some protection from Knives' Angel Arm. They thought their base had at least a small, natural line of defense.

He hadn't corrected them yet. Perhaps Meryl Stryfe had failed to note those details in her reports to Bernardelli. He was now certain that was where they'd gotten a good deal of their information. Whether they had a spy in the insurance company or had been running the post for the past decade didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that if Knives found the ship, he would penetrate the hull and kill every human inside.

Which also included this lovely young officer helping the old man through the long halls.

"I was walking ships like this before you were born, even if it was almost two hundred years ago," he finally said, not unkindly. "You may release me. What can I do? Run away?"

The guard seemed to mull that over before releasing the old man's arm. "You don't really want to waste time," he finally responded, then shook his head. "Orders," he muttered, mostly to himself.

It was unfair to sentence all these people to death. He was judging them precisely the same way Knives did. And he was too old to be a hypocrite.

The rest of the trip was fairly quiet, and true to his prediction, he was taken directly to the Plant staging area. There the silence stopped. It was astonishing how well the door compassed sound, because when the young guard grasped the lever and pulled down, and the seal loosened, it was as though Doc had been cast into a frigid pool of noise, complete with undertow and him still in his clothes.

There was a lot of shouting going on. Some of it was in English. Some of it wasn't in any language at all. None of it sounded happy.

Doc steeled himself for the unpleasantness he was about to see, and he entered the room.

The staging room was usually unpleasant Installing a Plant into a bulb was a fairly straightforward business. You carried a young Angel into the bulb, you in a hazmat suit and the Plant in a natural cotton robe, you deposited it at the bottom of the bulb, you attached a few needles and lines, and you left. Entire time spent in staging room – about ten minutes. Really it was more staging of the technicians making sure their air was turned on and the Plant was still sedated.

The next time you visited the staging area was for maintenance. Maintenance included swiping a stress sensor over the bulb to detect weaknesses in the structure. Total time in the room was about thirty minutes, and if you were very lucky, the Plant might come close to the glass out of curiosity, to see what you were doing with the blinky thing.

The third time a technician entered the staging area was for cleanup, after a Last Run. It didn't matter how many suits you wore, it would take lemons or ammonia to get the particles of incinerated fatty tissue off your body. Total time, including bulb time, would exceed fifteen hours. The work included crouching at the bottom of the bulb with a sharp, flat blade, trying to scrape all the death off before the next Plant was installed.

On Earth they'd discovered that not properly cleaning a bulb between Plants led to a significantly shorter lifespan of the second Plant, and a greater chance of resistance of the Last Run. Now there were strict protocols in place in regards to cleaning the bulbs.

He'd never had to clean a bulb. He wondered how long it would take them to clean this one. Probably not too long. Vash had only been there for five days. Even congealed blood would come up off the glass pretty easily.

They'd pulled him out of the bulb. That was pretty clear. A gaggle of technicians, some in thick biosuits and others in simple cleansuits were all gathered around something, and that something was screaming.

The voice was unrecognizable as Vash's. It was significantly softer, though still masculine. It wasn't exactly childlike, though. It was as though the voice didn't know how to speak anymore. It was the cry of a newborn if that newborn had been graced with a mature throat and Adam's apple. And there was a frequency to it that he recognized from bulb recordings. It sounded polyphonic, as though there were more than once voice, and more than one pitch being produced. If it had been raised in song, it would have completed its own chord.

Instead, it expressed fright and pain. There was nothing angelic about it.

Dr. Shrew was visible in her white coat, standing off to the side consulting her machines. She probably had the right idea; it looked as though her assistants were simply trying to make the sound stop.

Doc hoped they heard it for the rest of their short lives, every time they closed their eyes. He knew he would.

One of the monitors showed a badly distorted overhead view of the Plant, and it was this one he gravitated towards. The physical changes. Inhibitors had been administered, shrinking his Angel Arm to nothing more than a slightly elongated humanoid arm, a few white feathers. His exposed skin was chalky were it wasn't streaked with dried and fresh blood, darkly oozing from the deep wells and grooves the removed metals had left in his body. Ribs showed prominently beneath that skin, rising and falling frantically between each cry. His legs were tied down but trying to curl, bent slightly at the knee but far too weak to break the nylon bonds holding them.

It was easier to stabilize a Plant in a bulb, where the environment could be completely controlled. Now that he was out, no longer sustained by his own energy, Vash was doing exactly what he'd been doing when they'd put him in the bulb.

He was dying.

But there was something quite different about him. Doc took a step closer, studying the monitor closely, trying to peer through the static snow. Some of those wells should have gone through him. Some of the surgery done on his torn body had been pins that had stretched entirely through his musculature and skeletal systems, with ends protruding from his back to his chest.

Most of those were filled. The area that had once been held together with a mesh of metal was now a shining patchwork of pale white scar tissue.

And where the bionics had been removed, or rather butchered off his body, the stump that Knives had left him had grown about four inches.

Regeneration? Could he actually regrow the limb, or heal his own injuries?

But some of the injuries weren't touched. He was wearing so many of his own fluids it looked as though they'd been painted onto his body instead of clothes. His feet were arched downward, a sure sign of seizure, but he was still screaming, in control of the release of air from his lungs. His intact arm lay limply on the metal gurney, the only part of him that wasn't trembling. It wasn't moving at all.

Doc glanced at some of the medical readouts, noting blood pressure, pulse, temperature. Vash was badly chilled, at about 95 degrees at his core, and his pulse was extremely erratic. Doc took the time to wonder that the Plant was conscious at all.

Of all the times to just pass out and accept your fate . . .

Dr. Shrew had finally noted his presence, and unlike the scrambling of her assistants, she casually walked over to join him by the monitor bay as though her patient weren't convulsing his life away not twenty feet from them. Nor did the noise seem to distress her. Of course, her equipment was as far from Vash as it could possibly be in the rather cramped room, and her expression was slightly flushed, but he attributed that to the excitement of collecting the data, not the consequence it was spelling out.

"Good afternoon, Doctor."

He didn't return the greeting, which he knew wouldn't slow her down. She barely waited the amount of time required by polite society before continuing, handing him a patient history. For once he accepted the clipboard, thumbing through the lengthy record.

"I ask for your assistance one more time. We both agree the Plant is precious, and our differing opinions are irrelevant. Do you have any advice to share on handling its current symptoms?"

He shook his head, contemplating another laugh. Vash didn't need cynicism right now. He needed to be unconscious. But given the data Doc was seeing, he could see why she was hesitant to give him any more sedatives than she already had.

She'd given him enough to knock out someone four times his weight. Vash was tall, but very athletically built. He was pretty light, all things considered. More now that he was so badly dehydrated. In fact, her attempt to knock him out was probably responsible for the heart rate and blood pressure problems.

An ordinary human would have stroked out and died. He wasn't actually sure why Vash was still alive.

He heard the Plant choke, glancing at the monitor to see a technician cramming an oxygen mask on him. The tubes connected to that mask were tiny. Even if it was one hundred percent O2, it wouldn't be a large enough volume of air.

He could let them fail. He could do nothing, and let Vash go.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd made a decision like that for a patient. It wasn't something he'd been taught in med school, but med school was as far from practical medicine on Gunsmoke as anything could get. He hadn't been too hopeful of Vash's recovery when they'd plucked him out of the desert. Back then he'd been surviving on resolve alone, and it had been enough.

Now, listening to that voice, knowing what must have happened on a physical level to enable him to produce that sound . . .

"Put him in a cold-sleep tube," he snapped, regretting every word. "You're not going to get him stable like this."

"We can't," the doctor replied calmly, reaching over his hands to flip the clipboard again. "It's still emitting energy. If we expose it to advanced electronics it'll destroy them."

She was right. He was actually emitting energies. Several kinds, in fact, all of which were the harder to produce variety. He would indeed fry anything that was put near him. It was probably the reason for the screen distortion, and the distance of the monitoring equipment. In fact, it was probably at levels high enough to warrant caution when being in the same room with him.

The thought sobered him considerably. That she would go to such a risk belied more than a professional interest in the Plant.

"If you refuse to help, you can stand in the observation room if you like," she offered, seeming to sense his thoughts. "You should be safe from the adverse effects of the energy."

She wasn't giving him the option of leaving, though. She was making it clear she was going to force him to watch the consequences of withholding assistance.

And could he? Was that what Vash would really want?

He looked back at the gaggle of people, then the snowy monitor. Vash was shaking his head weakly against the oxygen mask, unable to lift his arm to remove it. His rejection moves were classic and instinctive. He thought he was being suffocated. Every movement he produced resulted in more blood from his unclotted wounds.

His blood wasn't coagulating. That was why he hadn't had a stroke yet.

There was also the chance that new scar tissue could be no more than skin deep, and he could be bleeding internally. It could account for the wildly erratic blood pressure.

He looked away, listening to the now-choked cries. Vash wasn't aware. Not really. He was trapped now somewhere between himself and the existence of his sister Plants – confused, only basically perceptive of his surroundings. Doubtlessly there wasn't a coherent thought passing through his consciousness. He might not have really been conscious in a clinical sense at all.

There was no guarantee he'd ever regain that awareness. There was no guarantee he wouldn't remain in this state permanently. And there was no guarantee that he wouldn't revert back to his natural, humanoid form within a few hours. If he did, he would prefer to be conscious, to be aware, to at least give stopping Knives a shot.

And if nothing else, finding Vash in the same state as the other Plant in the ship might slow Knives down. He might be so concerned he'd simply kill only those necessary to extract his brother to their home. And if he were conscious enough to make that call, he would happily be used as bait, however unknowingly, if it meant saving human lives.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Get that mask off his face!" he snapped into the room, not surprised that the noisy scrambling died back significantly. He still had the commanding presence of a surgeon in a theater when he needed to, and it was rare they heard it from a male throat.

"Administer fifteen milligrams of coufarin," he muttered into the relative quiet, glancing at the monitors a moment more. "And another two hundred of arixtor."

Dr. Shrew smiled. "If I wanted an executioner, I wouldn't have bothered you."

He glanced at his watch. "Make it twenty on the coufarin, and add an extra five for ever five seconds you delay."

"Seven milligrams would kill it –"

"Your patient will bleed out before we finish this argument. That is my advice. Take it or leave it."

He chose to stare at his watch instead of the doctor, and now that the mask had been removed and Vash could get more air, his screams continued. They had less strength, and this affected volume as well as pitch. The weakening could be likened to a screaming two year old, unhappy with being put down for a nap but slowly petering off.

Another six seconds passed before the other doctor made her decision, and oddly, he watched her palm the bottle of coufarin herself, drawing the dose. She drew nearly thirty milligrams, more than three times the amount necessary to kill either a Plant or a human, and exactly the increase that her hesitance had prescribed. She nodded sharply to one of the technicians, who was in the process of measuring out the arixtor.

He watched her assistants melt out of her way, watched her expertly insert the needle into the exposed blood vessels of Vash's neck. Once she made up her mind, there was no hesitation, no shaking hands. Before her assistant had finished administering the arixtor Vash's respiration had slowed markedly. Within twenty seconds of the coufarin his screams were reduced to whispers of exhaled air, nothing more.

The sound was very human.

Now that the Plant was no longer completely surrounded by technicians and assistants, he counted on his old eyes rather than the equipment. A brief glance told him what he needed to know. Shallow breaths, no longer utilizing his middle abdomen. Infrequent. Not rhythmic. Uncoordinated twitches in his legs, small convulsions of his upper body. Another ten seconds and his shivers finally halted.

For the first time, it was utterly quiet in the room.

Then the machines started screaming.

He glanced at the monitor, noting the machine had rebooted and the graphics were now crystal clear. The energy hemorrhage had stopped.

All respiration had stopped.

Vash was still again.

The technicians glanced among themselves, but no one said a word. Dr. Shrew stood beside Vash, though her eyes were still glued to her equipment. He shook his head. Trained to trust the computers more than her own eyes.

He walked over until he stood beside her, lifting one of Vash's eyelids and peering at the tissues there. His aquamarine eyes were dull and lifeless, and his pupils didn't respond to the change in light. The inside of his eyelid was as pallid as his face.

Doc nodded to himself, closing the eye gently. Even the outer skin of his eyelid was covered in a slick, cold sweat. The changes the chemicals had forced in his body hadn't been allowed to gradually release. That was probably the reason for the pain and distress he'd so clearly been perceiving. If he'd had a few days, that could possibly have been dealt with –

"I'm sorry, Vash," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

The Plant beneath his hand took a shallow, shuddering breath.

- . -

Meryl gasped, her eyes flying open sightlessly as a giant, chilled hand squeezed down around her chest. Her reaction wasn't enough; the icy hands tightened impossibly, and she felt herself trying to gasp again, mouth stretched wide.

She couldn't breathe.

Her eyes slowly caught up to her panic, and she realized she was supine, staring at an opaque whiteness of indeterminate height and depth. There was movement beside her, on her right, and she sucked in as much air as possible for a third time as she turned towards it.

Dark eyes, dark hair. Dark clothes. Open collar. Behind that figure, there was nothing but varying shades of white.

Oh, god.

I'm dead.

Her eyes wouldn't focus, but there was something so familiar about the blurred shape –

Wolfwood?

She didn't see a cigarette, and she sucked her next breath through her nose, trying to catch the scent. Maybe he wasn't allowed to smoke. She didn't smell sulfur or anything burning, which was probably a good indication, but –

The figure smiled, she saw a flash of teeth.

"Hang in there."

She continued gasping, ever so slowly beginning to feel as though she was actually getting air. The icy hand was melting into her blood, pouring down her arms and legs and back up into her chest. She blinked a few times, still without the breath to speak.

Was this what dying felt like?

"You're fine. You're safe. Just breathe."

The varying shades of white now seemed to have a pattern above her, like they were rectangles all neatly aligned beside one another. She glanced down at herself and her laboring chest, seeing more white, but this white had a texture –

A blanket.

Meryl dropped her head back onto something soft. A pillow. A glance at her right found a dark grey uniform jacket, an unfamiliar face. The dark brown eyes were slanted and almond-shaped, and jet black eyebrows knitted together as he watched her.

Meryl gulped her next breath, swallowing with difficulty, and tried to push away from him. She found she was able; her body felt oddly stiff, as though it hadn't moved in hours.

Asleep?

No. She'd –

Meryl continued to pant as more awareness poured into her mind. The ship. The guards.

Vash.

She'd – how? She remembered being led out of the room, but everything after that was fuzzy . . . had she fainted?

She pushed herself sharply upright, and as far from the guard as she could get. He didn't make a move to stop her, though she had to yank her right arm out of his grasp. She felt a sharp sting when she did so, and glanced down at the soft hollow of her inside elbow.

A little ball of cotton was still clinging by a few fibers to a spot of blood.

Meryl stared at it a moment, then back at the guard. He held up his hands placatingly.

"Take it easy. You're okay."

She struggled to take slower, deeper breaths, realization dawning. He'd given her something to wake her up. The feeling running through her body was adrenaline. It was just – more shocking than usual.

As soon as he saw she was content to lean against the wall and glare at him, he straightened and stood from his kneeling position by the side of the low bed. She didn't see a needle in his hand. She didn't see anything in his hand, actually. A firearm was slung low on his thigh, but the leather strap that kept it securely holstered was fastened. He stepped back, to give her distance, and Meryl suddenly realized just how hard she was pressed against the wall opposite him.

"It's twenty hundred hours. You've been out for about six. I understand you were exhausted, Ms. Stryfe, and I'm sorry we had to wake you. You're needed in a briefing."

She blinked a few times, slowly getting her breathing more normalized. She still felt wool-headed, and her grainy eyes told her plainly that six hours of sleep after more than thirty awake was not what they'd had in mind. The rest of her felt ready to spring off the bed like a cat and ricochet off the walls.

"What?"

The officer glanced around himself, then leaned down and picked something up – her shoes, she realized with a start. Meryl uncoiled herself from the back wall, sitting straight-backed in the bed, and made no move to accept the offered boots.

"We wouldn't have woken you if it hadn't been necessary," he tried again, by way of apology. "Please, Ms. Stryfe."

A briefing? They wanted more information out her?

"Did Bryan order you here?"

He blinked, taken aback, then lowered the outstretched shoes to the ground beside her bed. "Please follow me, Ms. Stryfe."

She bared her teeth. "You can tell your commander he can put –"

"It was your companion that insisted on your attendance," he interrupted, a little heatedly. "I will use force if necessary."

She glared at him, but this time he didn't back away. His hands were at his sides, and his oddly slanted eyes bore no indication that he wasn't completely serious.

Part of her liked the image of forcing him to drag her, kicking and screaming, into a room to demonstrate exactly how much help they were going to get from her. They – Meryl turned away from his eyes to glare at a spot slightly to his right.

They put Vash in a bulb.

They put Vash in a bulb like he was a Plant.

And that bulb was lit, a tiny voice whispered in her mind. Because that's what he was. A Plant.

That flash of white, that curled figure – she'd seen him do that before. After LR. Every morning they'd find him curled up on his side like that, they'd had to roll him back onto his back to take care of his wounds.

When he was in a coma.

They put him in a bulb.

That was where Vash had disappeared to. These were the people that had Millie, for 'safekeeping.' These were the people that sabotaged Elizabeth's upgrades.

These were the people that had – had –

She stifled another gasp as she realized. Six hours.

It was too late. It was too late to prevent Knives from getting the letter.

It was too late to prevent Knives from finding out.

Oh, god.

She stared at the guard again, not surprised to find him returning the gaze. There seemed to be a little smirk to his expression, now, and she realized she must look as horrified as she felt.

Was that why Elizabeth had asked for her? Because she'd figured it out too?

Numbly, she pushed back the covers and slipped on her boots. She was pleased to find she was still in her uniform, though not particularly pleased to note that she still smelled as strongly as she remembered. She shoved an oily lock of hair out of her eyes and realized, as she stood, it was a long time since she'd even peed, let alone showered.

"Give me a moment," she snapped, and the guard stepped back towards one of the two doors. Probably the exit. So the other door was the bathroom.

She stalked over to it, pleased to note it was automatic as well, and peeled back into the wall to reveal the most alien-looking bathroom she'd ever seen. The toilet was recognizable but weirdly sleek-looking, and she spent a few moments sizing it up before she figured out how everything worked.

After that, it was a simple matter of determining the mechanism of the sink, and borrowing one of the two washcloths set out. She couldn't do much about her ripe clothing, but once her face, neck, and armpits were washed she felt significantly more like a human being again.

Her brain was still oddly sleep-crusted, and she shook her head vigorously as she splashed cold water on her face, rinsing off the soap.

So Knives would know something was going on. The question was what he would do about it.

How likely was he to find this ship? If Vash had revealed it existed and there was a Plant in it, he might know of the location but there'd be no reason to suspect they were there. He'd probably go to Warrens, Collins, or New Phoenix in an effort to track them down. If he found any of these 'people' there the game would be up.

She knew damn well that Knives could read minds. She knew he could move things with his mind. She'd never experienced either phenomena, but Vash had been concerned enough about it in their week stay at the little cottage that he'd barely left the bedroom where Knives had begun his recovery. If Knives got his hands on anyone that knew about this ship, he'd be no further than ten hours out.

At best, they had fifteen hours until Knives could conceivably put the pieces together.

Less, if he was lucky.

Meryl glanced at herself in the mirror, surprised at how terrible she really looked. Her face was haggard, with dark circles beneath her eyes and a grim turn to the corners of her mouth. Her hair wasn't quite as bad as she'd originally thought, and a few run-throughs tousled it enough to get away with. Her uniform was even more badly wrinkled than before, but at this point she didn't care. She doubted even freshly washed and ironed that Knives would spare her.

If Knives found Vash like that . . .

She emerged from the bathroom just a few minutes after she'd entered, and the guard was still waiting for her. She simply nodded coldly to him, and he gestured towards the door.

The walk from this new suite to the briefing room was considerably shorter than the walk to the control room had been from their holding room, and didn't give her much time to prepare herself. She wasn't sure how much cooperation to offer – in fact, she'd prefer to gather information, not give it away. By now they knew she wasn't going to cooperate with their 'project,' particularly if it meant leaving Vash like that. Or worse.

The whole thing had come crashing down around him.

The briefing room, as it turned out, was very much what it sounded like. In fact, it was quite reminiscent of the New Oregon mayor's office, which was basically a giant oval table, surrounded by chairs, and an actual desk in one corner. This one was missing the extra desk, and rather than faux wood the table was made of the same opaque white . . . stuff that everything else seemed to be made of. It was emitting a non-glaring white light, making the room bright and sterile.

She could see that the people seated at that table had been at it for quite some time. The head of the table was familiar, balding and serious. To Bryan's right sat a upright, unpleasant-looking woman with her mousy brown hair rather severely drawn back in a bun, and beside her sat a gentleman in his early sixties, completely bald apparently by choice. His sausage-sized fingers were interlocked on the table over a stack of clear plastic reports. To Bryan's left was the salt-and-pepper doctor that she recalled was showing off Vash, and to his left sat Elizabeth.

Beside her was a young man, maybe in his late twenties, scribbling away on what she now realized was a very primitive recording device – a notepad.

"My men are loyal to me," Elizabeth was saying, barely glancing at Meryl before turning back to the commander. "Their assistance would be of great service to this project."

Bryan was watching the engineer closely, and Meryl stopped in the doorway, feeling oddly unwilling to enter the room without acknowledgement.

"I'll take that into consideration," he finally amended, then turned from her to Meryl. Their eyes met; his belied no disappointment, which she found she'd rather expected. They were simply observing her.

"Meryl Stryfe," Bryan greeted her as she stepped over the threshold. "My apologies for waking you."

"You've finally figured out the mistake you've made, haven't you," she replied, keeping her voice deadly calm.

He actually smiled, and indicated the seat beside the bald gentleman. "Please, join us."

She stiffly walked to the indicated seat, glaring but accepting the hospitality as the bald man leapt with surprising agility to his feet and withdrew the chair for her. She glanced at Elizabeth, but the other woman was staring at a clear square of plastic, which bore an intimidating jumble of black text.

"Elizabeth has filled us in on the 'compromise' agreed upon between the twin Plants," he said without preamble. "She has also indicated that you have a more complete knowledge of Knives' history than you included in any report."

The bald man reached into the center of the table, picking up a clear pitcher of water and a narrow glass. She watched the liquid slosh into the glass, unsurprised when the man set it before her. She watched the surface gradually still, considering her options.

Elizabeth actually wanted her to tell them about Knives? Well, of course. It would be in everyone's best interest to understand the threat.

And maybe it was better this way. At least there was a fairly organized army at this man's disposal, which was a much better prospect than the idea of the four of them charging in to save the day –

Of course, they'd been charging in to rescue Vash, not fight Knives.

"When do you plan on releasing Vash?"

She fixed the commander with her best negotiator's face, and she was pleased to see him lean back in his seat.

"I don't believe I need to remind you of the contract you signed."

She smiled brightly. "I will obey the letter of that contract. But I told you when I signed it that my first obligation was to Bernardelli, and that holds true. Keeping Vash in a bulb will have a significant impact on Knives' reaction to this situation. Trust me when I tell you it won't be a positive impact."

"Vash was taken out of the bulb a few hours ago," Elizabeth supplied, not looking up from the plastic she was reading. "Thanks to your negotiation of an insurance contract with their downed ship, our colleagues here were able to get in touch with Doc."

"We have it stabilized for the moment," the severe woman sniffed. "It's still under the influence of psionic buffers, so Knives should not be able to contact the twin Plant through telepathy."

"It?" She knew her voice had a dangerous lilt to it, and she didn't care. The severe woman didn't really respond to it, other than to sigh lightly. Her glasses were reflecting the opaque white that seemed to be everywhere, and it was impossible to determine her mood.

It wasn't her biggest concern. Doc? Vash's Doc? She couldn't imagine the old man agreeing to this. The concept was preposterous.

Maybe he didn't feel he had any more of a choice to cooperate than she did, Meryl reflected. If they were dead-set on using Vash to lure Knives, perhaps it was better than the man that knew the most about these Plants assisted. Maybe between all of them they might have a shot.

"Let's not get caught up in schematics," Bryan murmured. "What can you tell us about Knives?"

Meryl picked up the glass of water, taking a sip. "You misunderstood," she finally replied. "I asked you when you were planning on releasing Vash, not from the bulb, but from your custody entirely. Your best chance of avoiding genocide on Gunsmoke would be to free Vash and let him handle his brother."

And hope to god he was in good enough condition to actually fight.

"That is not an option," the severe women said smoothly. "There is not sufficient time, nor do any of us feel allowing two Plants of this type to 'handle' one another, as you so eloquently put it, is any less of a risk than attempting to capture one."

Meryl shook her head. "If you won't take my advice, why did you call me here?"

"Meryl, just tell them," Elizabeth sighed, setting down the transparency and glaring at her. "I know Vash gave you a rundown on Knives' history when the two of you were lovers, before he brought Knives back to civilization."

Meryl kept her mask with the practiced ease of a decade, but only just.

Lovers!

"Excuse me?" and Meryl inclined her head. "What history do you think Vash might have revealed to me that he would not have also revealed to Doc?"

The salt-and-pepper gentleman cleared his throat quietly. "We were hoping, young lady, to determine just that. If we could have what information you've gleaned and compare it to what the good doctor has revealed –"

Dr. Greer. That was his name.

She kept the polite smile on her face. "I see." Doc hadn't told them anything, and Elizabeth probably didn't know much. Of course, she wasn't sure what sort of relationship they had currently, considering Elizabeth had been allowed to interact with Vash for the past ten months and she –

Did Elizabeth want her to lie?

Is that why she'd made that ridiculous statement?

Or . . . was she being serious? Did she really think –

Meryl gave Elizabeth another appraising look, and the engineer returned a slightly irritated one. If there was a message masked in that look, it was too subtle for her to pick out.

"Knives caused the Great Fall." She'd give them what she'd included in the attempt to absolve Vash of his sixty billion double-dollar bounty. "He reprogrammed the computers to crash on the planet's surface. The human that raised them, named Rem Saverem, stayed on the ship to correct the course of the fleet, but was too late to save her own ship. She sent Vash and Knives to the surface in an escape pod."

The entire room was watching her, so she took another sip and continued. "That was the beginning of the conflict between Vash and Knives. Knives believes that humans are – are like a virus. Consuming resources and destroying everything they touch. Vash took Rem's teachings to heart, and believes in –" Well, love and peace, but it sounded too corny to say. "He believes in the good of the human race, and has been working to protect everyone from Knives ever since."

She turned her expression a little icier. "Knives will interpret the kidnapping of his brother and the subsequent installation into a bulb as evidence that he is correct, and act accordingly."

"Yes, we know all this," the bald man beside her suddenly spoke. "How was it able to force the manifestation of Vash's Angel Arm? You witnessed such an event, yes?"

She blinked at him. "I watched Vash put a hole in the fifth moon, yes."

He interlocked his thick fingers again. "Yet you also advocate releasing such a dangerous life form to its own devices?"

"Everyone at this table is breathing because of what Vash did –"

"Enough."

The room swiveled to look at Elizabeth. Her eyes were flashing, and she had paled slightly. "Knives is coming here," she said, very clearly looking at Meryl. "What Vash did was agree to stand by and do nothing when Knives came to slaughter everyone. So forget him. He's not going to help us."

Meryl stared at her a moment, not understanding. Why would she say such a thing . . . ? Unless she wanted to make them think Vash wouldn't do anything so they pulled security off of him?

"What –"

"If you have any information that could be used in the defense of this ship, now would be a good time," the woman snapped, interrupting her. "There's no way and no reason to move Vash at this point, so Knives will be coming here. Nothing we do now will change that. He has to be stopped here."

Meryl stared at her, waiting for some kind of indication of what Elizabeth wanted, and finding none. The woman looked . . . angry. Tired. Hurt. She was still collected, but she was certainly distressed. And nothing about her posture or her expression gave Meryl the impression she was anything less than sincere.

Vash would never just stand by –

"What are you talking about?" she finally asked. "Clearly you and Vash have shared some information I wasn't privy to."

Elizabeth ignored the barb. "The compromise, Meryl. The reason Knives agreed to let Vash try his Plant upgrade idea. You know Knives better than I do, or at least I think you do. Didn't you think it was odd he would just agree to go off into the desert and build his little Eden?"

Meryl's eyes widened. Elizabeth hadn't told them about – she couldn't have.

What the hell was she playing at?

"Excuse me?"

"Vash agreed that if the human population resisted his one attempt to free the Plants, that Knives could wipe them out. Before you even start," she added angrily, cutting off Meryl's attempted interruption, "I have that from Vash's lips."

Meryl struggled to keep her expression neutral. No one else at the table looked surprised by this information, but they were watching her reaction closely. Elizabeth had told them. Told them everything. Told them about the fight between the twins, about Knives' attempt to terraform a paradise for the freed Plants – she'd told them everything.

Why in the hell would she do that?

It dawned on her far too late.

"You . . ." She was at a loss for words. "You've been working with him, almost every day, for ten months –"

"What choice did either of us have?" she shot back. "Work with Vash or be wiped out by Knives. I don't know about you, but that choice was easy for me, even –" She bit the word off, pressing her lips together. "Do you get it? If we don't help them, if Knives collects Vash, July will happen _everywhere._ Every single settlement will be wiped out."

Meryl just stared at the other woman.

She'd tried to kill him. Vash had forgiven her for it a long time ago, and Meryl had trusted his judgment.

She should have learned by now not to trust his judgment.

Meryl closed her eyes. So all this time was just another attempt to get rid of him. And she'd led Elizabeth right here, the one time Vash couldn't defend himself.

And despite that, the backstabbing bitch did have a point.

Knives would be coming. And he would have to be stopped, here. There would be no stopping him once he realized what was going on. That Vash's own spider had betrayed them both. That humans had dared to put Vash in a bulb.

"He might have been assembling another set of Gung-Ho Guns," she heard her voice, steady and quiet. "Ten months isn't long enough to train them, but he might have hired some more nonetheless."

Just two of them had been enough to all but destroy Doc's ship, so even if they weren't as skilled, a group of ten or more of them could probably do significant damage.

"Ground troops," the bald man muttered, to her left. "Do you have any idea what number?"

She shrugged. "A dozen. Maybe a few more. Originally there were thirteen, I think." At one point she recalled Vash had been counting, adding their deaths to his guilt. "He'd spent at least a decade gathering the last group, so even if he has tried to create a new group of Gung-Ho Guns they shouldn't be impossible to handle."

"Is there anything else? Can Knives replicate the destructive force that Vash wields?"

She looked squarely at the commander. "I don't know," she said simply. Certainly he must have in their fight in the desert, since Vash told her they'd destroyed the oasis completely. "But he has the ability to counter Vash's attacks."

Just not Vash's bullets.

The room buzzed a little at that information, and she closed her eyes again.

Knives would have to come into the ship to rescue Vash. That meant they'd have a little notice before he melted the SEEDs ship to base metals. If she could escape the ship, Elizabeth's jeep was probably still out there. She could get back to Mei, give them fair warning.

Knives wasn't bulletproof.

But he did have the Plant sisters.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found Elizabeth was staring at her. The other woman averted her gaze after a moment, choosing to look at the man beside her.

She might have found him suddenly interesting because he was beeping.

Meryl watched with half-hearted interest as the young man pulled a small grey box off his belt. A portable computer, she realized with a start. Actually portable. He glanced at it a moment, then quietly stood up and walked over to the commander. Bryan was speaking with the bald man to her left, but he accepted the computer and glanced over it when he was finished.

His expression became slightly more grim. "Our timetable just moved up," he announced to the silent room.

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows, and he handed her the computer. She looked over it, then handed it across the table to the bald man, who actually chuckled.

"An RSVP. How thoughtful."

Meryl glanced over at the display, seeing large blocky text that spelled out "I accept your invitation." There were other, colored, blinking indicators that didn't make any sense to her.

"It was sent from Inepral City," he said, possibly for the benefit of the other two. "That gives us about four and a half hours."

She was still staring at it when the bald man caught her, and he held it out to her. "We use these to relay orders to our men in the field," he explained shortly. "We've launched a series of satellites that allow us to contact any of the main settlements in a matter of minutes." He frowned, then shook his head. "It seems Knives has a sense of humor."

She made a face. He did like to toy with his prey, after all. It wasn't surprising that he even knew how to send them a message via their Lost Technology – he'd probably grown up using it on the ship.

"That means . . . your men . . ."

The bald man nodded slowly, his sausage fingers drumming on the table. "That's the third team it's killed," the man growled. "It will pay dearly for those lives."

She quieted. The third team – hopefully not the team that hadn't reported in, that had taken in Millie –

Meryl froze, then modulated her voice to be calm. "So the same thing that happened to the team that tried to protect Millie Thompson, happened to these men?"

He was frowning, clicking buttons on the grey computer. "Undoubtedly." He spared her a glance. "We appreciate your cooperation," he said gruffly. "I understand this must be difficult for you."

She swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat. The same thing. Death. Death at Knives' hands.

They kidnapped Millie, and then Knives found them and killed them.

Elizabeth was trying to catch her eyes, now, but she ignored the engineer.

"Were those men sent to capture him?"

She was amazed her voice was so steady.

The bald man, she was starting to realize, was likely the man in charge of military strategy. She would have thought the commander would have ultimate decision over that, so he was like an advisor to the Mayor. He would know enough to answer her next question.

"They were sent to attempt to ascertain its location," the man replied, sliding the computer back over to the young man beside Elizabeth. "We're lucky this Plant likes to mock us," he continued in a low, angry voice. "Otherwise we'd have had no warning at all."

If they knew that they were trying to find Knives – then it stood to reason they knew what had happened, or been intended to happen, to Vash.

"Does the message from those computers get sent the moment you type it? Or can you postpone the sending, sort of like putting a delay on a gift package sent through the mail?"

He finally looked at her, really looked at her, and she waited patiently for his response. It was slow in coming, and it was clear he was trying to piece together why she'd asked the questions she had.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "Terry."

The young man beside Elizabeth looked up from his computer.

"Can reports be typed up and sent on a schedule, rather than at the time of the completion of the report?"

The young man nodded. "Yes, they can be. Furthermore, the receiving PDA doesn't log the delay because the sending PDA doesn't transmit the amount of time the report's been saved. It's been a problem cropping up among some of the less dedicated officers . . ." He trailed off, then looked alarmed. Beside her, the bald man swore quietly.

If the men Knives had killed knew what had been intended to happen to Vash, that meant that Knives now knew it as well. She was certain that knowledge would enrage him. She'd seen him lose his temper on any number of occasions when Vash originally brought him home, and once he was angry he was even more humorless than usual.

There would be no warning for these humans. If the message truly had been sent from Inepral City, and this technology was familiar to Knives -

"He's here," she announced, and everyone at the table looked at her.

- . -

**Author's Notes**: The only reason this chapter got completed so quickly is because half of it was written when I posted the last one. And I felt guilty for making you guys wait a week. ; ) I guesstimate we have about six more chapters, but it could be a little longer than that. The next chapter promises to be exciting! Finally! Action!

Thank you all for sticking with me on this fic – it's grown entirely out of hand and I recognize that. I promise to go back and correct all those typos you folks pointed out – thank you much for the help! Hopefully you guys are enjoying this as much as I am. You're all going to kill me in about four chapters. ; )


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- . -

Aces and eights.

It used to be referred to, on old Earth, as dead-man's hand. She didn't remember why; it had something to do with a famous gunslinger having that hand and getting killed. The idea of getting shot in the back with a bullet was pretty funny, all things considered. It make her smirk. It was a break in her poker face, but it was just too ironic to keep to herself. Tony was sitting right next to her, so she flashed him the three eights and two aces.

Tony flicked his eyes over, but he didn't seem to think that it was as funny as she did.

He had no sense of humor anymore.

She sighed a little, carefully not glancing up as the saloon doors squeaked again. Collins had a lot of bars and taverns, and their rotation had taken them through a good many that were fairly difficult to secure easily. They'd lucked out; the Journeyman even had a decent distiller supplying the beer.

Not that they were indulging on duty, she thought, but then again, this was the first assignment she'd ever been given where playing poker and starting brawls were actually orders. And there were beers sitting around the table, and they were indeed consuming small amounts of alcohol to keep the barkeep and other patrons believing the act.

She shifted again, easing her little man a little further left. These hard, flat wooden seats were hell on your balls after a few hours –

She found herself starting, and for a brief moment the cards were hard to read.

She was a man.

After a moment's concentration, it occurred to her that of course she was a man, and there was nothing wrong with that. The cards came back into focus, and she glanced furtively at the bar.

The line of red was the first thing she noticed, the collar turned up but not enough to hide the inch or so of spiky blonde hair tips still peering over. The guy was waving down the barkeep with a leather-clad left arm –

That was him.

That was a Plant. A walking, talking –

Talking in an awfully whiny, high-pitched voice.

Sighting that Plant wasn't as shocking as she'd imagined it. She cleared her throat and downed another swallow of beer, catching Sol's eye across the table and flicking them to her left. Solomon nodded, pushing all his chips into the center of the table.

"I'm all in," he growled, and crunched a peanut for added emphasis.

Rod leaned back in his seat and belched loudly, then tossed a few hundred double dollars' worth of chips at the pile. "I'll see that."

She glanced at Tony, and he shrugged, then reached down – slowly, when he saw the way Sol was glaring at him – and eased his piece onto the pile of chips. "It'll more than cover that bet," he said, a little defensively at their suddenly appraising looks. Sure, it wasn't much more than an old Colt, but it might have been from old Earth.

It certainly got the attention of several of their onlookers, which was really the point.

She looked down at her own pile of chips, then grinned disarmingly at the other three men. "I'm all in." She shoved them noisily into the center of the table, and shot Tony a slightly barbed look, which he pretended to ignore.

"Then I guess I call," came Sol's slightly slurred words, and he slapped a pair of kings and a pair of queens on the table. His fifth card was a three.

Rod swore loudly and hurled his cards into the pile of chips.

She knew she was next, and she really didn't have a clue what Tony had. After all, they'd all really had shit to escalate the bets that high, but they couldn't very well proceed with the plan without pretending to have bet it all.

"Aces and eights, gentlemen," she purred, laying them across the table in a pretty fan.

Tony looked over the cards and grunted. "Huh." He tossed his cards face-down on the pile as well – probably because he hadn't had so much as a pair. They'd only been in the Journeyman for about four hours, so they hadn't attracted much attention.

She leaned forward and reached out with her right hand to sweep the pile. At least her hand had squarely beaten Sol's, otherwise they'd have had to play another round. The other man violently lunged forward, clapping a hand down on her wrist.

"You just hold it right there."

She stared at him for a moment, then tried to pull her wrist away. Sol wouldn't let go.

"A pair of aces and three of a kind beat two pairs," she heard herself declare. "Everybody knows that."

"Your eights ain't as high as my royalty," he growled back. "This hand goes to me."

"But it was three of a kind," she heard Tony protest, on her right. A little plaintively – after all, if she took the winnings, he'd get his gun back. They'd entered the bar together as friends, so it was pretty clear they were playing as a team.

Even if they were playing badly. Wasn't much time for poker in cold-sleep.

"Shuddup," Rod glared, also leaning forward. "Looks ta me like Solomon here won this hand."

Tony looked taken aback, and he glanced subtly at her. She shook her head slightly in return; she didn't have a gun, after all.

Even though she really did, tucked into her boot. Just in case. It wasn't like she'd accept a mission like this and go in unarmed, even with three guys she knew well.

That Plant could probably move fast, and even heal fast, but it had already proven that Plants weren't bulletproof.

"You'd best lay off, boy," Sol growled, still keeping a death-grip on her wrist.

"Forget it," she growled in return. "This one's mine fair and square. Go sober up somewhere and you can play me for it later."

Sol growled out something even she couldn't make out, then yanked on her wrist. He was strong; even if they hadn't been hamming it up for the onlooker's benefit it still served to pull her bodily across the table. Her face and chest plowed through the stack of chips, knocking glasses and cards to the floor with a fairly loud clatter.

Of course, she didn't come in contact with the Colt.

Rod had already picked it up, and when she blinked, she found it was close enough to her left eye to be out of focus unless she tried really hard.

They hadn't seen real, live combat before. Not really. The odd scuffle in keeping disorderly officers in line had really been about it. The barracks seemed a century away, though she'd only been conscious of a few years of it. They were well-trained, they fought each other in games. It wasn't the first time she'd seen the business end of a firearm.

But having a live weapon pointed at your face made you uncomfortable no matter what your training. If this Plant was really telepathic, at least it was going to pick up on honest fear.

She blinked a few times, trying to breathe shallowly lest the jumpy Rod mistake her breathing for an attempt to escape.

"Now wait just a minute-" she started weakly.

"There's no need for this –" Tony sounded surprisingly subdued. He was good with his voice. Could have been an actor.

"Hey, are you guys playing cards?"

Abruptly the gun was gone.

So was Rod.

Her wrist was released and she shot backwards, landing in her chair with a sharp creak and looking around blankly.

The red-coated gunfighter was standing in the place where Rod – and his chair – had been moments ago. Standing, of course, was relative; he was leaning haphazardly on the table as though he were going to fall over any second. His eyes looked glazed but interested, an odd shade of almost malachite, and his grin was positively goofy.

She was shocked at his proximity and appearance, even though she'd read all the reports.

Jesus Christ. That thing looked like a person.

Looked just like a person. Down to the crow's feet giving away the fact that those currently-wide eyes had just as often been narrowed. His grin relaxed into a puzzled smile.

"Hey, you've got an empty spot! Can I play? I got some money . . ." He groped around in the pockets of the red duster clumsily.

Sol was just staring at him. She honestly had no idea what had happened to Rod, so she leaned – slowly – to the left to peer around the back of the Plant. For his part, he didn't pay her the slightest attention.

And there was Rod, lying on the floor with his butt still attached to the chair, blinked dazedly. His arm was still outstretched, but the Colt was gone. She wasn't sure whether he was affecting a drunk having been hit on the head or he was actually stunned.

She leaned back up and stared blankly at Sol.

He had recovered, in typically drunk fashion, by jumping unsteadily to his feet, knocking his chair over and yanking out his own weapon. It was just as unsteady as the rest of him; it didn't shake, but the barrel was weaving in time with Sol's eyes.

The Plant ignored him, still fishing around for money. "I know I had some money, it's just that my pockets keep eating it!" he whined plaintively. "Say, that's a really big pile of chips! Could you guys spare a few –"

"Shuddup!" Sol roared, jamming the gun towards the Plant.

Which placed a single, gloved finger on the open mouth of the barrel, steadying the gun. "It's just a game, friend," he said cheerfully, not moving either his finger or the gun. It was still pointed at his head, but it didn't seem to worry him. "How about you put down your gun and we play cards?"

"I said shaddup!" Sol repeated, at a slightly higher decibel. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

A beer stein came down from the sky, cracking across the back of his head, and Sol slowly collapsed. She winced as he caught his jaw on the table on the way down, and his falling body revealed a shaking Tony behind him, intact glassware still in his hand.

She and Tony exchanged a look, then both of them turned towards the Plant in unison.

Vash the Stampede looked significantly more sober, and rubbed the back of his neck absently. His eyes were no longer childishly large, but they were still fairly open and friendly. His smile, too, was less goofy but no less sincere.

"Thanks," he said. The pitch of his voice was no longer whiny; it sounded quite pleasant. Quite normal.

Nothing like a Plant.

She recovered herself before Tony did. "We should be thanking you, mister!"

Tony nodded and gulped. "I guess I didn't think he was that drunk."

Her blood froze when the Plant laughed softly and said, "He wasn't."

Tony's eyes widened, but he never dropped character. Probably a leftover from his opera background. "Y'mean –"

"He just wanted to take your money," the Plant soothed. "You guys should really be careful who you pick for players in this town. It's pretty cutthroat."

"You ain't kidding," she muttered, finally taking her feet and staring at the mess of chips. "Hey, um –"

The Plant was still smiling, and he opened his right hand. In it gleamed Tony's old Colt.

Tony grinned, genuinely pleased to see the article, and took it as the gunslinger offered it. "Thanks!" He looked at her and grinned in relief. "Woulda hated to have lost her –"

"That's a nice gun," the Plant complimented. "Can I ask you where you got it?"

Tony inspected the gun, as though it might have been scratched when Rod had snatched it up, and put it back in its holster. "It was my grandfather's," he lied smoothly. Actually, she reflected, it might not have been a lie. Well, a partial lie – it wasn't his grandfather's, but it mighta been the commander's grandfather's gun. It was old, certainly, and they were both treating it like gold.

But it had worked exactly like they'd hoped it would.

The Plant didn't seem to notice the lie, or if he did, he didn't respond to it. "I haven't seen a gun like that in a long time."

Tony beamed as she began to gather up the chips from the table. Rod was still on the floor, and Sol was out, possibly actually unconscious. Tony had had to really hit him to make it look good, but the impact on the table had probably really done him in.

"Yeah, it's a pain to find anyone that can work on 'er," Tony was saying. "I ran across a gunsmith that would, though, a guy named . . . uh, Frank something –"

"Frank Marlin?" the Plant asked incredulously.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I think that was it. Older guy, gave me the impression of a drunk but did a bang-up job on her." He gestured towards the Plant's holstered weapon. "Say, what are you carrying? That looks an awful lot –"

Vash the Stampede smiled, and she realized that all the previous smiles had been fake compared to this one. His entire face lit up.

It was the weirdest thing she'd ever seen.

He pulled out the gun and the two of them fell into instant conversation as she gathered up the rest of the chips and waved down the barkeep. He trotted up obediently to take the chips, and she motioned to another empty table, and held up three fingers. The barkeep nodded and headed back to the register with the chips.

While Tony guided the Plant to the empty table, still talking guns, she listened for a moment before heading to the bar herself.

Tony had bigger balls than she did, making him take out that gun.

That gun destroyed July.

That gun destroyed Augusta.

Now it was out, and it was in his hand.

She reached into her trouser pockets, fishing out the packet and a few double dollars. The money she slapped onto the bar, and the keep returned with three beers. She juggled the beers, dumping the packet of powder expertly into one of the glasses as she 'fumbled' with them.

Maybe it wasn't a good thing he was so creepily like a human being. The whitecoats figured that the Plant would have a more Plant-like constitution, so the dose she'd just poured into the beer would probably kill a regular human. She considered spilling part of the glass to get it topped off and thus diluted.

But orders were orders. The last thing they wanted was the Plant to be staggering around realizing what had happened.

Particularly now that Tony had gotten the thing to pull its gun. Maybe he thought he could take it away . . .

She returned to the table, plopping the beers down and sloshing them slightly. She winced a little at the mistake as both men looked up from their conversation, and she pushed a beer towards the Plant.

"I figured buying you a drink was the least I could do," she said by way of explanation, glancing at Sol and Rod.

No one seemed particularly concerned that they were still on the floor.

Collins really was a rough town.

"Thanks for stepping in, mister."

Tony grabbed the third beer, and all three raised and clinked their steins and took a deep pull.

The drug was a normal covert sedative, and usually it would remain inert in the victim's stomach while the acids removed a protein coating. This was to allow a time delay, for the intended victim to completely consume the dose before the first effects. This would usually take two to five minutes, and counted on the fact that Vash the Stampede had a stomach, and there was acid in it.

So when the five minute mark came and went with no slowdown in the chipper Plant, she had no choice but to finish the beer and order another round.

It occurred to her it would be quite ironic indeed if the Plant had already gleaned the plan from their minds and was planning on simply drinking them under the table for its own amusement.

"Where are my manners," Tony suddenly exploded angrily. "I ain't even asked you your name, stranger."

The Plant smiled. "Well, my friends call me Vash."

She sucked in a little too much beer, and coughed. "Did you say Vash? Vash the Stampede?"

Tony was staring at the Plant, wide-eyed, but then laughed heartily and clapped a hand on the red-dustered shoulder. "Oh, I get it! That's funny!"

The Plant joined him in his laughter, a high-pitched, fast laugh that sounded slightly insane. She stared at the two of them blankly until they petered off into chuckles, and the barkeep gave both of them an odd look as he cleared the empty steins and replaced them.

Tony was wiping his eyes. "He wears a red coat, get it? His friends call him Vash. Hah!"

She picked up her second beer and sighed. "Well, whatever your nickname, thanks. We owe you."

A gloved hand settled on her forearm, and she almost flinched.

"For what? I just wanted to play cards."

Tony started giggling again, and she shook her head and gave the Plant a conspiritory look. "He's drunk," she mouthed silently.

It was really an excuse to look back into the Plant's face, and it told her something that made the tight ball in her throat relax considerably.

The blue-green eyes looking back were definitely dilated.

The Plant nodded, a little uncoordinatedly. "A little," he conceded. Then his expression became sober, and he stared at his newly filled stein. "How many have we had?" he asked suddenly.

She shrugged. "I dunno. A few. Why? Don't tell me you're surprised at a buzz when Tony there'd probably miss the pisser."

The Plant blinked owlishly, and Tony mock-glared at her. "Hey! What're you tryin' to say?"

She held up a hand. "Just that our friend 'Vash' here probably weighs about half of one of you."

"You callin' me fat?"

"Well you sure ain't thin, Tony," she responded dryly, taking a pull on the beer.

"I'm just strong is all!" Tony protested, flexing an arm. "See? This here's pure muscle."

She snuck another glance at the Plant. His expression was blank, eyes glazed and almost black. The tiny ring of color that was left seemed dull, and with his next blink he was out.

Tony reached out and caught the Plant before it could collapse face-first on the table, and tsked. "Guess our friend here can't hold his liquor."

"You didn't think he was really Vash the Stampede, did you?" she retorted. "But he did save our asses. Seems rude to just leave him here. It's only nine."

Tony frowned. "Well, what do you want to do with him? Ain't like we know where he lives."

She shrugged. "I dunno. We can always put him on the couch till he sobers up."

Tony chewed on that a minute, then stood. "Yeah, I 'spose."

The Plant was, unsurprisingly, very heavy. Not only was he dead weight, but he apparently was wearing enough metal in him to melt down and build a town. She wasn't sure he actually did weigh any less than Tony.

"I'm not fat," he muttered as they hauled the unconscious Plant out of the Journeyman.

"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?" she shot back, adjusting the arm over her shoulder. It was sort of like hauling around a live and damaged plasma cannon you weren't sure wasn't set to overload. The Plant's head was lolling on his chest, and sweat was dripping down his face to spatter in the dust.

He was sweating a lot. Was that some mechanism to rid himself of the drug?

"Let's go," she muttered. "I don't want him waking up on us."

The truck was where they'd left it, and it was awkward to stuff the six foot tall humanoid Plant into the cab. Part of her wanted to toss him in the bed and forget about him, but if he regained consciousness –

"That was weird," Tony muttered as they finally got all three into the cab and the motor turned over.

"I know," she responded. She'd seen the footage of the Plant's shutdown of their manufacturing line, and he'd acted and spoken like a human, but watching stock footage and then getting to interact with the real thing –

What if they didn't have the right guy?

"You sure this is our target?" She reached into the glove compartment and fished out her computer. Tony was easing them out into the street, so she held it low in her lap, lest any of the civilians see the glow of the screen.

"Modified Colt," he responded. "Leather on the arm, blonde hair, red coat, said his name was Vash . . . took him ten freakin' minutes to pass out. I'd say so."

She regretfully typed up the report. It was short and to the point.

Target neutralized. Civilian casualties zero. Returning to the shack.

She sent the message and tucked the computer away, glancing again at the unconscious Plant tucked safely between the two of them.

Seemed like a nice guy. Wasn't hard to see how he'd gotten by fooling everyone for a century.

"I wonder when Sol's gonna come to," Tony said thoughtfully into the night.

The truck hit a sudden jolt, and Millie started, casting around in the dark a moment. Her head still ached, and she had a numb spot on her forehead that felt oddly flat –

She'd fallen asleep against the window.

The trunk wasn't running.

Millie blinked, glancing around in confusion. She'd been dreaming. Dreaming about . . . about Mr. Vash! And a truck.

And now she was awake. And she was in a truck. But she wasn't in a truck with Mr. Vash.

She held her next breath, stilling herself as she heard a soft sigh. Knives was still there. She could feel his presence, an actual warmth against the left side of her face in what was a quickly cooling cab. He'd killed the lights, so there was no dim glow of the console to illuminate his face, but she didn't need it to realize he was asleep.

She watched him in her peripheral vision, fearing he'd sense an outright stare, and she barely dared to breathe as his head shifted slightly to the right. After a careful moment, his steady breathing resumed.

He must have been exhausted, she reflected. He'd been driving or – or worse since yesterday evening. The rations he'd made her eat were also probably the only meal he'd had in the same timeframe. He'd headed out of the city with a destination firmly in mind, and she didn't believe he'd stop the truck to nap. He wouldn't waste the time, not when Mr. Vash was in danger.

Which meant they must have arrived .

Millie craned her neck, trying not to move and still get a good look out the front windshield. Two of the moons were full, and the third was on the horizon, a quarter shy of completely round. The other two were either above the truck or currently in shadow. Either way there was more than enough light to see she was looking at the desert.

Millie glanced out her window, ignoring the foggy spot her forehead had generated on the glass. Just more sand. There was no light besides the moons, nothing reflected in the hazy, dust-clogged air to indicate there was a city or even a homestead just over any of the dunes.

There was nothing to indicate Mr. Vash was there.

Millie swallowed, suddenly incredibly thirsty. It was something she had noted during long hours playing hide and seek with her sisters. It never failed, actually. Whenever you had to be perfectly still and quiet, you always got a back-twitching itch, or had to suddenly sneeze, or got the hiccups, or choked on a bug – if she hadn't needed to be absolutely quiet, she wouldn't suddenly be craving the bottles of water still at her feet.

One was empty, and the other – the one she had been drinking out of – was nearly. Millie knew she couldn't get them without the material of her coat whispering loudly enough to wake him. So she remained where she was, and tried to think non-thirsty thoughts.

What if the truck had broken down? But no, she wouldn't have slept through that. Why would he arrive where he wanted to be but let her sleep? Did he wait so long for her to wake up that he fell asleep too? Or did he think he needed a few hours' sleep before he confronted the men that had kidnapped his brother?

Maybe that was a good thing, she reflected. Maybe that meant that Mr. Vash was okay, and he was purposefully wasting the time to make Mr. Vash think he wasn't coming, so he could rub it in that Mr. Vash's humans had ruined everything.

Millie bit back a sigh. Oh, Mr. Knives. How could he blame Mr. Vash for this, when it seemed like the entire point was to stop him, not his brother? Wouldn't it be more like the humans attacking Knives than actually attacking Mr. Vash?

They'd been getting along so well. Talking, which they hadn't done for probably fifty years. Seeing each other without fighting. It would take them a long time to trust each other again, but she was sure they would. And the Plant sisters would help. They seemed so gentle and kind. Surely their influence would discourage Mr. Vash and Mr. Knives from fighting just like her youngest older sister had stopped her Big Big Brother and Big Little Brother when Daddy'd –

Millie pressed her lips together determinedly, holding her breath so she wouldn't make a sound. She looked high, at the moons, to keep the tears from spilling out.

What if she never saw them again? What if everything went wrong?

Millie Thompson stared at the moons for what felt like hours, until finally her tears drained into her nose, and from there, rather unhelpfully, tried to run down her lip. She moved only as much as she needed to, wiping her nose softly with her sleeve. Bringing her eyes back down to the cab, she noticed the pistols, still sitting beside her on the bench seat that stretched the width of the truck cab.

She had four clips in her coat, and had put new clips in them after the 'practice' Knives had made her do.

Two.

She'd counted.

Two out of twenty-four. Each clip held twelve bullets. She'd have to count them, and be very careful with her left hand. Truth be told, she'd missed the small lizard on purpose. He hadn't been doing anything wrong, besides soaking up some heat before the night came, and he'd have to hide away in his lizardhole with his lizardwife and wait for the new day and bugs to eat.

She was pretty sure that had also been a part of Mr. Knives' test, but other than narrowing his eyes he hadn't said anything. Maybe he wanted to see if she'd kill.

And she wouldn't.

Because if she was that kind of person, she would kill him while he slept. She would pick up the pistols, and she would shoot him, and that would stop him from killing everyone else. That would stop him from making Mr. Vash hide in his Eden with the sisters while Mr. Knives went from town to town, disintegrating the homes and stores and families there.

If she were that kind of person, she wouldn't hesitate at all. Because hesitating was the worst thing you could do. Nicholas believed that, even to the day he died.

He wouldn't have hesitated. He would have picked up the pistols and fired, both of them, and then he would have gotten out of the truck and gone to rescue Mr. Vash.

Millie watched the man beside her, upright even in sleep, his head lolling on the too-short, understuffed headrest. His jaw was slack enough to pull his lips slightly apart, and every once in a while his Adam's apple would bob a tiny fraction, as though he were about to say something.

He slept very much like her Big Little Brother. Ready to go even when he wasn't.

Right then, he reminded her the least of Mr. Vash. He'd always been a nester, at least as long as she and Meryl had known him. He'd wrap any blanket you gave him around and around himself until he'd made a nest in it, and cuddle up on his side. He always looked oblivious when he slept, like a little boy, and, when there was no danger, awoke in much the same manner.

She had no doubt Mr. Knives was capable of waking and acting without so much as a second's pause in between.

She'd never been that coordinated when she woke up. Her brain could never quite remember where it was at first, and she always spent her first few breaths of consciousness in a state of confusion. Sometimes, in those first few seconds, she would decide she was still tired and go back to sleep even if it was a work day, which was why she was so often late.

Millie suddenly wondered if they were going to be late. It was an immediate drop in her stomach, that feeling that she'd forgotten something followed by the wave of certain dread that usually sent her flying to the shower with the sheets sometimes still wrapped around her legs.

Her chest tightened, and she found her eyes scanning the desert. She was late. She needed to go, right now, she couldn't wait another second or she was going to miss something, something terrible was going to happen –

Beside her, the warmth changed, and her frantic eyes met cool, clear topaz.

The frantic feeling faded away, and her stomach relaxed like she'd slipped into her seat at the Bernardelli home office with a few seconds to spare. Knives stared at her a moment, an inscrutable look on his face, before he opened the driver's door and slipped out.

She hesitated only a second before she followed suit, careful to grab the guns, and she cast one last, longing look at the bottles of water before she trailed after him.

He was dressed in his familiar bodysuit again – when had he changed, she wondered – and this time the thigh holster was not empty, but filled with an ebony version of a familiar Colt. He moved through the sand as though his feet knew exactly how each grain would shift, and despite the fact that she'd always been agile she felt like a floundering young thomas as she struggled up the dunes beside him.

He stopped at the crest, his short-cropped hair fluttering ever so softly in the stronger breeze, and as she slipped in the loose sand she caught sight of, finally, something other than desert.

There was a jeep, sitting between several rather high dunes. If this wind kept up, by tomorrow it would be half-covered. It was difficult to find a place the sand wouldn't shift too much, and those few natural eddies almost always were transformed into the main traveling roads.

This jeep was not in one of them. It was out in the middle of the desert like they were.

It was also empty, and all the doors were closed. It had not been abandoned in a hurry.

Knives headed for it, and she followed, sliding the last little bit and very nearly colliding with him. He turned his head slightly but otherwise paid her no attention, and she reflected on the fact that he was showing her his back.

He was starting to trust her.

She followed him to the jeep, where he spent a moment eyeing the vehicle before going around to the back and yanking open the trunk. Even in the dark, she could see the back was filled with weapons. More weapons than she'd ever seen, except maybe at a dealer's. A red sticker on the bumper marked it as a rental vehicle, and its hood was securely fastened, so it hadn't overheated.

Who would have just left it there?

Knives stared at the pile of munitions for a long moment, then continued walking without taking so much as a grenade.

Millie stared at him a moment. He'd passed up larger weapons at the warehouse, too. Was he trying to make the point that he would fight this fight with only the gun that he'd made?

Was he fighting this fight because of pride, rather than out of concern for his brother?

Or did he just want it to appear that way?

She didn't dare ask him. She just followed him, sludging past the jeep and fighting the urge to close the trunk. It was a rather silly thing to worry about in the middle of attacking the people who had Mr. Vash, she reflected, but it was a habit. If you left a door open, sand got in. Even if it wasn't her jeep or weapons, whoever owned it probably would want their things to stay clean.

And that, of course, immediately led to the question of who would leave a jeep and all those weapons out in the middle of the desert. Was it the people who had kidnapped Mr. Vash?

And if it was, where did they go?

She shifted the pistols in her hands as she struggled over the next dune. Again, he paused, and this time he cocked his head to the side.

She followed his gaze, at first seeing nothing but sand. There were no other shapes on the horizon, no lights – but then she started picking out dozens of odd, round lumps in the sand. Some of them weren't quite buried, while others were apparently quite deep in the sand. They were certainly not natural formations, but their shape was familiar to her, somehow –

Round.

Of course. Those were the robots Mr. Vash and Mr. Priest had disabled when they went to save the little girl. She was right. They were in the desert between Mei and Inepral City.

They were where she'd met Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Well, several iles south, really -

A tingle ran up Millie's spine, making her twitch, as Knives calmly turned to her. He drew his pistol in one smooth motion, a movement that looked casual and unhurried while being quite swift. He fired before she realized it was leveled at her face.

No. Not at her.

Over her shoulder.

He was shooting at something behind her.

There was a vicious buzz in her left ear, and she was in the process of flinching in shock when the night suddenly became day. Millie had enough time to blink, wondering at the sudden, bright yellow light. She had time to see Knives' smirk, the pistol dangling by its holster but still drawn.

A massive force shoved her face-first into the dune. A second later a sound caught up to the shockwave, a thundering, deafening sound quite like the sound of a sandsteamer grinding against a cliff at extremely high speed. She felt herself yelp silently, and her arms moved instinctively to cover her head, the pistols miraculously still in her hands. She moved so swiftly she accidentally bonked herself in the head with the left one.

With that strike, the world dimmed, and sound returned.

She could hear Knives, walking through the sand towards her.

Millie brought up her head, coughing as a wave of desert heat much like midday boiled over them, and stared at him.

But he had no eyes for her. He was looking at something else, satisfaction written deeply into the lines of his mouth.

She took a deep breath, and rolled onto her side, looking back the way they'd come.

The jeep was gone. In its place was a burning skeleton of a vehicle, and assorted objects, most also in flames, lay scattered in the valley they'd just left.

Two of them vaguely looked like people.

One of those shapes was also aflame, and was trying half-heartedly to do something about it.

Millie turned her head away, swallowing down the urge to be sick. He was burning alive.

The pistols were cool in her hands, their metal not unlike the smooth surface of Mr. Priest's cross. He'd be reminding her that she could stop the man's suffering. She couldn't treat his burns out in the desert, he'd argue, and they were far from a settlement. He would die anyway, and she wouldn't let a thomas struggle on with a broken foreleg, would she?

She glanced backwards again, and found that the shape was barely moving. As she watched, she realized now it was just a trick of the light, a play on shadows.

Millie closed her eyes and climbed slowly to her feet. Her head felt stuffed with fabric, and she shook it before she looked back at Mr. Knives.

He was surveying the horizon, and he still hadn't put away his gun.

And then he was three feet to the left, and looked more than a little irritated. He raised his gun again as a more distant report finally sounded, but this time he wasn't pointing it anywhere near her.

Millie took a deep breath and shook herself again, scanning the sand. Where had the two men come from? The jeep had been empty –

Something sliced her right arm.

It was a sensation she recognized, and she whipped around before she was even sure what she was doing. The red dots on her pistols picked out the source of the bullet, but it was too dark to discern the gun from the rest of him. The explosion had ruined her night vision, she'd have to do something immediately or he was going to shoot again –

Millie held her breath, and hesitated.

The shadow leapt away from view, falling back to the dune. The report of Knives' gun was shockingly familiar, and she dropped her hands after a moment, glancing at her arm. It was just a graze – she was lucky. Maybe he'd been trying to shoot her weapon away, too. It stung something fierce, though.

He hadn't been there earlier. Had he been buried in the sand?

She waited, listening, but all she heard was the wind on the sand, and the popping of flames. Footsteps told her Mr. Knives was walking away, apparently satisfied that he'd taken care of the threat.

Four men.

Twice as many as before.

And she let Knives kill all of them.

Again.

She turned on her heels, staring at his back as he walked away. His gun was still in his hand, and the rigid set of his shoulders told her he was angry.

Did he not expect this, she wondered. Did he not expect that they would try to shoot him?

And why had he saved her?

Nicholas would be furious with her.

She hurried after him, blinking repeatedly to try to restore her nightvision. How many more were out in the dunes? Where had they come from? Where was Knives going?

Obviously they had been expecting Knives to track them down.

She had almost caught up to him before he topped the next dune, surveying the horizon much more closely than before. She was beside him before she could make out his expression, and it made her want to run right back the way she'd come.

Angry wasn't the right word.

He was incensed.

And he was looking at her.

"You knew this was here," he growled suddenly, and his voice was far colder than the night air.

Her blank stare was not the response he was looking for, because he took a step towards her. She took a step back.

"I – I don't understand," she tried, and he raised his gun.

The ebony gun's bolt and barrel popped, and she truly expected a bullet to hit her this time. But instead of flying backwards, they were ejected off the top of the gun, revealing an odd cylindrical component she was fairly sure wasn't supposed to be there. Blue energy crackled around it, and it dawned on her.

Like Mr. Vash's gun.

She watched, transfixed, as Mr. Knives' hand grew almost fibrously, extending into the gun and past it and up his shoulder and growing thicker and feathers, white feathers –

It was his Angel Arm.

She stumbled backwards away from him, and he followed her with his eyes. They didn't flinch, though she knew from Mr. Vash's hollow description of what had happened in Augusta that it was terribly painful. It took him no time before his arm was nothing like an arm.

It sort of looked like it was part of a wing.

He wouldn't waste that effort on her, no matter how angry she made him. She knew it absolutely. He was going to use it to destroy something else. But what? There was nothing out there but sand and dead robots and –

And the ship that had made them, of course.

She wrinkled her brows in confusion. But that ship had been empty. She and Meryl had run through it after getting accidentally sucked into the same sinkhole that had probably gotten Mr. Priest and Mr. Vash. She'd even used her stungun to punch a hole in the floor when they'd heard Nicholas and Mr. Vash fighting –

There hadn't been any people there.

But if they were truly in the desert between Mei and Inepral City, there was no other place anyone could be hiding Mr. Vash.

He was going to destroy it. And kill all of them. Everyone in that ship.

Including Mr. Vash!

No. He wouldn't do that -

Would he?

She took a step closer to Mr. Knives, still shaking and berating herself mentally. She just hadn't realized -

And how could she not have? Obviously the people that were after Mr. Knives were using Lost Technology, and how many other SEEDs ships had she seen? Just Doc's, really, and a few mostly disassembled wrecks.

Oh, all the time they'd wasted, and Mr. Vash had been waiting for them -

"You can't destroy it!" she told him, taking another step toward him. Now she was directly in front of his Angel Arm, there was only a few feet between them. Maybe he was so angry he wasn't thinking clearly. "What if Mr. Vash is in there?"

He was staring at her as though he'd never seen anything so disgusting. He didn't bother responding with words.

Instead, his Angel Arm began to draw in all the light.

She didn't mean to, but reflex honed by the last few years of following Meryl and Mr. Vash pulled her out of the way, towards the sand. She heard the energy discharge, an odd sound that was unlike anything she'd ever heard before. And she'd been there, when Vash had been forced to fire on the moon. This was –

Quieter.

It felt as though something massive were moving over her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut as another explosion rocked the night air. The ground beneath her shuddered violently, but the sound of the ship disintegrating was softer than she'd expected.

It was softer even than when the jeep had exploded.

But longer. It seemed forever before the rumblings stopped, and everything was still. She clung to the sand, gripping her arm and concentrating on the pain of the stinging wound there.

He'd done it. He'd destroyed it.

Millie was shaking as she dared to look up, and a very natural-looking hand reached down for her. He caught her collar, rather than her throat this time, and he lifted her easily.

"Even if I were that merciful," and it was soft, as though he was not literally vibrating with rage, "my dear brother would have survived just as I survived him."

She blinked uncomprehendingly at him, and he tossed her in the direction he'd fired as though he was discarding an old newspaper.

Millie rolled a few feet before she was able to righten herself, and then she stared.

There was a terrible, fire-ringed hole in the sand. Some had been burned completely away, and more of it had become glass, still glowing slightly orange as it refused the chill of the night air. The hull of the ship, where it had met the energy blast, was alternately burning or red, flowing tackily as globs of metal bled onto the desert.

But they were also bleeding inwardly, as though being sucked in by some invisible force. She watched them drip, fascinated, as Knives strode past.

It wasn't destroyed. He'd just blown a hole in the hull. A sizable one.

He'd created a door.

He'd also warned them that he was coming.

Knives wasn't stopping, and Millie dazedly cast around for her guns. She found them, lying not far away, and numbly picked them back up.

If he had been that merciful. Merciful enough to kill them with one shot. Merciful enough to destroy them in an explosion.

Obviously he was planning on destroying them some other way.

He hadn't killed her yet because –

He probably would have if she hadn't moved out of the way of his Angel Arm.

Millie stared at his back, starting to register other voices in the nights, shouts of people that had survived the initial blast. It wasn't that Mr. Knives trusted her at all. He simply didn't consider her a threat.

She kept hesitating.

And people kept dying.

She watched him striding towards the glowing SEEDs ship, then dropped her eyes down to the pistols.

- . -

**Author's Notes**: I understand this chapter might be a little confusing – Millie had a dream. In her dream, she was a man playing poker and encountered Mr. Vash in a bar. She woke up in the truck with Knives, who appeared to be sleeping himself, and they proceeded towards the ship in the desert.

I am going by the anime, in which Knives had an Angel Arm (or two) very much like Vash's. I understand this may not be accurate to the manga. If you see some glaring issue, please please please let me know! Sorry for the delay on this chapter – I had to make up a week and a half's worth of work. Never going on vacation again, if this is what I have to face when I get back!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Author's Notes at the end.

- . -

Meryl took a breath, and was almost disappointed when she felt cool air enter her throat.

She heard someone groan, and despite the way she felt she was pretty sure it wasn't her. Her head was pounding, and her right gums ached. Upon touching them with her tongue, she realized her cheek was badly swollen, but she didn't taste blood.

Light flickered outside her closed eyelids, and reluctantly she opened them.

She remembered, this time, where she was. No hallucinations of that damned priest. _He might have been_, a quiet corner of her mind whispered, and she was immediately sorry for the thought.

Fine. No pig-headed, booze-soaked, sand-burned, pontificating hypocrite with a bad suit priest was trying to reassure her.

Oddly, the realization made her a little wistful. It would have been nice to see him again.

It might have meant this nightmare was over.

But she wasn't that lucky.

Her view of the room was a little different than she remembered. For one, she was lying on the ground. There seemed to be light coming from directly above, and her unfocused eyes picked out one of the legs of the conference room table. Which she was under.

She didn't remember ducking under it.

A shape moved off to her left, and an elephantine forearm came into view, carefully reaching under her face. Thick fingers wormed beneath her cheek, and she couldn't help but wince at the sudden, sharp pain the movement produced.

"Come on, Ms. Stryfe –"

Somehow there was another hand somewhere else on her, because she was suddenly lifted vertically as she hadn't been since she'd been six and fallen asleep on the mass transit. She then found herself floating gently horizontally until she had been extracted from beneath the table. Knees came into view, and as she was set gently upright, she relented and gathered her legs under her. Her thighs twinged warningly, but she ignored them, and the hand on her face tilted her chin up.

Thankfully, the overhead lights weren't particularly glaring, and she stared at a concerned face surrounded with the reflected halo of light that could only come from complete hairlessness.

"Are you with us?"

She blinked, a little sluggishly, but nodded, and pulled her face away from the hand. "What? Why?" Her voice was thick and slurred, and she shook her head and worked her tongue over the inside of her bruised cheek.

"Step aside, Phillip," a brusque voice commanded, and the large general was replaced by a severe, unhappy-looking face. Thin, steel fingers reached for her, and she flinched away. They followed; she expected them to be cold and metal-like, but the woman's hands were actually warm and soft. They were firm, though, and brooked no argument.

Meryl flinched as the woman tapped her right cheekbone, again surprised by the pain. It was the only thing she could feel, really, and only when it flared up like that. Her left cheekbone was tapped, and her eyes examined closely. The expression on the doctor's face never changed, never seemed to be more friendly, but her calculating eyes seemed to sharpen slightly.

"She'll live," the severe woman announced to the room. "Though I doubt you'll be too pleased about it in a few hours," she added almost as an afterthought. "Don't stand."

Abruptly the woman was gone, and Meryl obediently stayed exactly where she was. She shifted her legs to a loose Indian style and gazed around the room.

It was getting easier to concentrate on things, and other voices were cutting through what seemed to be a silent but overwhelming ringing sound.

"I guess the door wasn't big enough," the bald man quipped. He was nearest to her, having retrieved one of the pudding chairs and drawn it up to the conference room table. The table, it seemed, was quite securely anchored to the floor, and did not appear to have shifted at all. She could see the bottom, vaguely, and realized that there were dark squares now, like placemats where every chair had once been.

Only it looked to her eyes like the placemats were moving.

"Decks eleven and twelve are exposed," the young man agreed, sitting almost where he had been before the ship had rolled down a large hill, taken a leap at the base over a wide chasm, and crashed at the bottom into the sharp rocky crags.

She knew it was actually buried in the sand, so the fact that whatever Knives had done had felt like that, and shaken the ship so badly, was probably not good.

She was frankly surprised to be alive.

She was surprised they still had power.

Then again, it was a spaceship. And it was designed to absorb the impact from a giant plasma canon. Since Knives' was really only about as big as a person, maybe it couldn't do as much damage.

After all, the best Vash could do was carve a visible hole in the fifth moon.

"Report."

There was another voice in the room – it came from the table, which she was starting to realize was showing moving images much like their monitors did. How it had been clear and underlit one moment and capable of showing opaque images the next was a wonder, certainly, but what would have fascinated her just days ago now couldn't hold her interest.

"Sir, we've lost communication with the advance team," the table babbled. "There was a report of an explosion about a minute before the hull was compromised-"

"That was probably my jeep," she heard Elizabeth murmur.

Meryl just turned her head aside. She couldn't even work up the energy to be angry with the woman anymore.

It didn't matter.

Knives was there.

He killed the team that kidnapped Millie. And then he killed her. And now he would kill them.

Vash wouldn't really let him do that. He'd worm his way out of whatever prison cell they'd put him in, he'd know that impact had to have been caused by his twin, and he would try to stop him. He did it once.

When he was perfectly healed, and armed.

And not curled up helplessly at the bottom of a glass bulb.

Elizabeth was right, but for all the wrong reasons. Vash wasn't going to save them this time. They'd have to save themselves or die.

Meryl refocused on the conversation, aware that she'd missed something. She thought about asking them to repeat themselves, but speaking would take too much effort.

"We've lost vid on decks ten through twelve," the young voice came back.

"Override on my code, alpha tango alpha." It was the commander, and he didn't seem perturbed by this sudden development.

"No good," the bald man – Phillip, the woman had called him – growled. "Security on all decks is being overridden."

"That was fast," Dr. Greer observed mildly. "I think A-20034 has taken a liking to our new Angel."

"I would expect Knives to have the dominant personality," Dr. Shrew responded dryly. "It's already demonstrated a significant tendency toward efficiency."

"Dr. Greer, if you would be so kind."

There was a tapping sound on the table, and Meryl leaned a little to her right to watch his fingers on the black placemat. As she leaned, more blood flowed into her right cheek, making it ache heavily. She ran her tongue along it, rhythmically up and down, waiting for the pain to abate.

"What is that?" she heard Elizabeth ask curiously.

"A re-routing protocol I thought might be useful," came the lecturing voice of Dr. Greer. "Since our intruder has done us the favor of being a species other than homo sapien, we can track the Plant using its unique biosignature."

"Knives can disable that as easily as anything else in your system."

"Ah, but this power is not being provided by A-20034." Now his voice sounded pleased with itself. "This system is routed to the secondary cold generator."

"They're logically isolated . . ." Her voice was thoughtful. "But won't your ship's Plant be aware of it even if it can't control it?"

"Eventually. The end result, however, is the same. A-20034 also would have no way to gauge consumption or capacity levels. My one-winged Angel provided this power," he confirmed.

Vash.

They were using power they'd bled out of Vash.

To fight Knives.

Somehow, she thought he might approve.

"Com-commander! It's-"

The call came from the terrified table, which commenced an agonized scream. Long after the screamer should have run out of air he continued, until the sound became more urgent, then wet. At that point the commander tapped the table, which immediately fell silent.

"Location last transmission." Bryan said it as though he expected someone to answer him.

The table beeped and helpfully flashed something at the head of the table.

Meryl glanced around, noting one of the chairs – possibly hers – had flown across the room and was now pushed up against the wall to her left. Despite the doctor's warning, she pulled her legs under her and stood. Phillip gave her a concerned glance, but she shook her head and headed determinedly for the chair.

Despite her wool-headed feeling, she found she was easily able to walk. No dizziness, no weakness. She grabbed the chair, rolling it back towards the table.

She was the only one at the table that didn't know what was going on, but even if she couldn't help, watching screens upside-down was making her slightly nauseous.

She sat at the table, noting she had her very own black placemat. It was actually slightly rectangular, wider than it was tall, and currently it was spouting any number of messages. The upper right corner seemed to be a constantly rotating, three-dimensional representation of the ship, and she could see a large patch of its side blinking red.

So that was the 'door' Phillip had referred to. Knives had blasted a hole in the side of the ship. Probably the side closest to the surface.

Maybe it was dark out and he just didn't see the main entrance.

_Now that's something Millie would think up_, her brain noted, and Meryl clenched her teeth until her right jaw screamed.

Now was not the time to mourn. Something was bubbling out of her, a laugh or a scream or a sob, and she clamped down on it, holding her breath until the quivering in her chest stopped.

The monitor. Watch the monitor.

"The plan was always to lure him to you, wasn't it?" Elizabeth asked. Meryl glanced at her, then did a double-take.

She wasn't the only one to be injured.

Elizabeth had what appeared to be a fantastic welt on her forearm, and she was favoring the arm and wrist pretty heavily. Bryan looked none the worse for wear, as did the general, but the entire left side of Terry's face was covered in blood. He was pressing a cloth to what was apparently not a deep cut on his temple, but he kept setting it aside to type into his little grey computer. Dr. Greer looked a little pale, but whether that was due to an injury she couldn't see or the condition of his comrades she couldn't tell. The female doctor also looked fine, despite her rail-thin physique.

The commander was staring at his screen, which showed something much different from hers, with a frown. "Display all biosignatures for deck eleven, quadrant C."

Dr. Greer answered her question. "Of course. Given the gravity of the situation, we did everything in our means to engineer a non-confrontational solution. This Angel proved too difficult to find in the time we allowed. Given the capabilities of a Plant versus our military capabilities, it only seemed prudent to orchestrate any direct conflict in a time and place best suited to allow us to utilize every tool to its fullest potential."

Knives was mobile. Their ship was not. Meryl stared at the placemat in front of the commander, noting his was displaying a specific place on the ship. There were about a dozen orange dots, and a blue one.

"It looks like our Plant did enlist help," the bald man noted. "I count five? Bravo team, any visuals on the accompanying humans?"

"Negative, General," the table responded grimly. "Visuals are a no-go. Too much smoke."

As she watched, two of the orange dots blinked, then slowly vanished. It was clear the general was correct – a circle of orange dots were moving with the blue one. One was just behind the blue dot, the other four were in front of it about two inches and to the right a little bit.

"We're keeping a steady seventy percent casualty rate on engagement," Terry said in a low voice from the other end of the table, and Bryan's expression became more sober.

"Bravo Team, fall back to the grav generation," he ordered, touching his placemat and pulling up another portion of the ship. "Terry, where did you get that number?"

Terry concentrated on his little grey computer, and Bryan tapped his table. "I see," he murmured. "Then where are they?"

Meryl didn't make the leap, and she stared as the bald man glanced up at Dr. Greer. "Can you display anyone bearing one of our comm. units as a different color than the other humans? I realize it's two different systems –"

Dr. Greer was already at work. "A moment."

Phillip also pulled up another section of the ship on his monitor. "The progress is still as expected. The problem is that we have to throw our boys out there for it to see."

"If Knives takes out the grav generator we're in serious trouble," Elizabeth mused, though it sounded like she was talking mainly to herself. "Won't he follow your men directly there?"

The bald man shook his head. "We expect Knives to head for A-20034, actually. It's already initiated telepathic communication, so it's only a matter of time."

Elizabeth was staring at him. "Before . . .?"

"Before our Plant determines secondary power is being routed to essential systems" This time it was Dr. Greer that responded. "At that point, it is my belief that Knives, upon trying and failing to sense the other Plant that must be generating that power, will query A-20034."

" . . . so of course he'll head to the second cold generator, thinking Vash is still there but sedated."

Dr. Greer nodded. "Precisely."

Elizabeth was nodding as though she suddenly understood the plan, and Meryl turned her attention back to the orange dots.

Excluding the ones surrounding the blue dot, they were disappearing at an alarming rate.

"Charlie team, pull back to storage 12," Bryan ordered the table, and six of the dots started to move in the opposite direction of the blue one. "Bravo team, report."

"General –"

There was an odd sound, like heavy stiff fabric had been dragged across the microphone. This time it was a hiss of air, punctuated at the very beginning with some vocalization, maybe a grunt. Whoever it was was trying to speak, but the words couldn't be made out over the background noise. Two more of the orange dots blinked and disappeared.

"I really need a visual," Bryan said calmly, though Meryl could see the muscles of his jaw working. Apparently it wasn't lost on the bald general and Terry, as they began working feverishly. Dr. Greer, too, seemed trying to accomplish something. Elizabeth caught Meryl's eye, but Meryl immediately looked away.

Deal with Knives now. Deal with Elizabeth later.

"Here's your overlap."

All the orange dots turned green. Except one. The one dot immediately behind Knives stayed a bright orange.

The other four dots surrounding the blue dot had turned green with the rest of them.

Bryan straightened, some unreadable emotion crossing his face. Elizabeth tilted her head, wincing as she pulled at the injured shoulder. "So his people picked up the comm. units off your dead?"

"Not that it will do them much good. We send broadcast orders by team. The last orders given the three currently engaged groups was to fall back, and that's all they're going to hear."

"Until Knives goes for the secondary generator," Elizabeth finished thoughtfully. "Hopefully that will be sooner than later. He's headed for an intersection that could take him to cooling, grav generation, weapons –"

"Sir."

Terry stood quickly and almost jogged around the table to the commander, showing him the little grey computer rather than sending the information to his placemat.

"I think that's safe to assume," the commander said finally, then caught the general's eye. "It's one hundred percent losses, Basil."

The general – Phillip Basil? Basil Phillip? – looked pained for a moment. "You don't think they're some kind of internal –"

Bryan shook his head.

Meryl stared at the dots, then stared at the men. Some detached part of her brain, accustomed to taking in piles of unrelated claims and drawing correlations, started crunching.

They went from a seventy to a one hundred percent casualty rate. There were four humans with Knives that identified like soldiers. The forward team had disappeared. Alpha and Bravo teams had been comprised of six men each. Charlie team had engaged but fallen back. At least three men out of those eighteen had died, and at least two of those men had been in the Alpha or Bravo teams.

Four was thirty percent of thirteen.

There were two green dots in the room marked 'storage' on her placemat.

The four men showing as soldiers were soldiers.

And the commander was considering them casualties.

Because even if they were walking and talking – or more likely serving as human armor for Knives – they were still dead.

"Bingo," Elizabeth said softly, and they watched the blue dot remain, for the first time since entering the ship, perfectly still.

- . -

There was the unmistakable sound of bone and cartilage being crushed, and a claw-like hand fell into view. She averted her eyes as quickly as possible, but not before she caught a glimpse of the shuddering body, the scrabbling feet trying desperately to escape the vise that had settled within the skin, grating flesh and blood and bone with an impossible grip.

It was like he had an invisible hand, and he could make it go wherever he wanted. And he wanted it to go into their bodies, he wanted to squeeze out their life with it and feel their corpuscles forced between its clenched fingers.

He wanted them to feel what it was like to have the life squeezed out of you.

He was doing to them what humans did to his sisters.

And he was doing it just as casually.

And it made her just as sick.

She stared at the small of his back, the only safe place to look, trying not to listen to the whimpers of the men. She didn't know why he'd picked them, or even how he was making them do what they were doing. But she knew they were aware of it, unlike those men that had forced her and Meryl up onto that cliff face, that horrible, horrible day –

She flinched back, suddenly realizing he had stopped.

Millie held her breath, hoping her hitched sobs hadn't been the thing to attract his attention. With every step into this ship Knives had been growing more and more agitated, taking more pleasure in the agony he was causing every human that was foolish enough not to flee. Luckily, it seemed like they'd only encountered armed men in grey uniforms.

And these men were not trying to shoot weapons out of his hands, or graze his arms. They were shooting to kill.

They just didn't have a chance.

And Knives hadn't branched out into any of the side rooms. If there were civilians here, just innocent people trying to find a safe place to live, he at least wasn't seeking them out.

He was seeking out his brother. And now that the corridor seemed to end in a major intersection, he appeared to be deciding which way to proceed.

The short hairs on the back of her neck started to stand up, and Millie fearfully looked at Knives.

All she could see was his back, but of course his drawn bodysuit brazenly revealed his flawless physique, taut muscles that seemed to grow tighter even as she watched. A tiny voice in her head began screaming at her to run, yet Knives remained still.

Absolutely still.

He was holding his breath, she realized. Just like she was.

The silence was broken only by the odd siren she'd heard since their entrance, and the ragged breathing of the men Knives held immured. She watched one of them raise his weapon, noting his arm trembling at his shoulder but the barrel was held perfectly steady –

"No! Please, no! Nnn!"

The muzzle flash seemed almost to come after the shocking sound of the shot, and the man beside him toppled like a house blown down sideways. Millie squeezed her eyes shut and turned away as the gun rang out twice more.

The man had ceased begging and was crying out intelligibly. It sounded like he had something in –

Another shot, more muffled, and another body dropped.

Millie was unable to completely silence her sobs, but Knives was paying her no attention. He was already almost ten full yards away, having chosen the immediate right corridor, and gone was his languid pace. His stride was long and hurried.

Hurried. He'd only hurry this extermination for one reason –

He was going to keep killing them until he found Mr. Vash. Mr. Vash could convince him to spare them. And if he wasn't conscious enough to do that, maybe Mr. Knives would be worried enough to just want to get him out of there, back to the truck –

Once they found Mr. Vash, this would stop.

It had to stop.

Tears streamed down her face as she skittered around the bodies, forcing herself not to look at the men. But no matter how she didn't look, she could see that three of them had died – mercifully. He'd killed them the simplest way, the quickest way; a bullet to the head. The forth man, the one that had been forced to fire on his fellows, had fallen with the gun still trailing down his lower lip.

She had promised him she would help him find Mr. Vash. They would find him, and then they would leave, and Mr. Vash would reassure Mr. Knives, and it would be okay.

No, it won't. Meryl's voice was as clear in her head as if she'd been jogging beside her. Nothing about this was okay. Nothing would ever make this okay.

"Oh, sempai," she whispered, horrified to see that Mr. Knives had drawn his gun again. "What should I do?"

His Colt was still odd-looking; with the pin and barrel missing she was sure it wouldn't fire. He seemed to come to the same conclusion; even as he walked he pulled out the odd cylinder and dropped the gun back into its holster. The canister he simply held in his right hand.

And before her eyes, his arm grew feathers.

It wasn't the same as the Angel Arm she'd seen before. This was more like an actual wing, the feathers sliding between each other smoothly as he flexed it. It whipped out suddenly, large in the hallway, and though she heard a heavy impact she wasn't sure what had happened until she remembered the kind voice.

Knives.

That was where the knives came from.

As soon as she saw blood she turned away, this time sparing herself from another memory of someone she couldn't help. Again, his wing twitched, and again, she heard something heavy being flung. She also heard a ping of metal on metal.

Please, just run. Run away from him.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Mr. Vash.

And Knives knew it. She could tell by the set of his shoulders that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Wrong enough that he couldn't play anymore. Wrong enough that he was arming himself for something much bigger.

He actually sped up his pace, breaking into a jog, and began taking turns off the main corridor. She had to almost run to keep up with him, the guns still clenched in her pumping hands, every bullet still in the clip.

She'd never gotten a chance to disarm even one. Knives killed them before she could do anything to warn them away.

He abruptly took a left, gracefully leaping off into a black space. As she caught up, she saw it was a rather steep stairway. He'd landed, barely flexing his knees to absorb the impact, and was already off. A faint, flat thud told her he'd just repeated the maneuver with another flight of stairs.

She raced down them as fast as she could, finally tucking the guns into her shirt so that she could use the banisters that seemed designed for just such a thing. If she fell, she could grab them in the middle and just swing down. She was still several flights behind him when she no longer heard the tell-tale sign of his feet hitting the metal grating, and when she'd counted the appropriate number she stopped, gasping for breath, and looked right and left.

There.

She found herself sprinting to catch up, fishing the loose guns out of her shirt and chasing him through a huge, open room. It reminded her a little of Vash's Doc's ship, where all the cold-sleep tubes had been. But this was empty, and echoing, and it seemed their footsteps were huge and rumbling and deafening but ultimately nothing more than noise. She was tall, and had long legs like he did, but even as strong and fit as she was, getting ground on the Plant was difficult.

Nothing would make Knives _run_.

And she knew that he could move faster than that if he wanted. Much, much faster. Was he waiting for her?

Or was that his way of hesitating?

What were they going to find?

She put on a fresh burst of speed as Knives cleared the doorway on the far side of the room, and reached him in time to see him walking towards a door. It slid open at his approach, and began to close as soon as he had passed through. She gasped in a breath, sucked in her stomach as far as she could, and skittered sideways. The closing doors caught her left cuff and she heard the button snap, lost in the doorframe.

Knives hadn't noticed. He was staring at the room they'd entered.

She followed suit.

It was obviously a lab of some kind, or had been made into one. Gleaming, glowing counters stretched all around, bearing all kinds of machinery and clear plates filled with neat rows of tiny dents, like miniature wells. The place was well-lit, and white coats lay scattered on the various stools and seats. Monitors were imbedded in the walls, currently showing numbers and graphs that reminded her a little bit of the time they'd stood in the control room as Elizabeth had switched the very first plant to solar power.

Knives bound up four stairs on the left as though they were nothing, and another door slid open at his approach. Just like every one on the ship previously, she hurried after him, and again just managed to slip through behind him.

But this time that was because he stopped in the doorway.

Millie crowded him but didn't touch him, feeling the door sliding across her bottom as there was just enough room for her to hover behind him.

"No." It was quiet, and it was absolute refusal.

He seemed to reel, taking another step into the room despite himself, and Millie realized she had been right.

They were standing in a Plant control room.

Only the bulb out the window was dark and empty.

Knives continued into the room gracelessly, but Millie remained by the door, staring. There was a hideous – thing, the inside seemed like a chair but it was metal and encased in both a ball and surrounded by a square structure for a track, as though it could be rotated any way you could want. Monitors were embedded in the ceiling in this room as well at as the ones in the walls, and the control panel looked exactly the same as the one Millie remembered, only cleaner and newer-looking.

Most of the equipment was off, but some of the monitors showed what looked like storage and auxiliary information.

"No."

Millie dragged her eyes back to Mr. Knives. He seemed oblivious to the equipment or the monitors. He was staring at an underlit bench at the far end of the room, looking for all the world like the benches they'd passed in the room outside.

"No."

The word echoed weirdly. It sounded as though his voice was shaking.

"Mr. Knives?" she tried tentatively. She realized she should be more concerned about the fact that they were cornered in this room, but his body language was screaming at her that something was wrong. If she didn't know better she would have thought he'd been terribly injured.

He didn't answer her. He staggered to a stop, about five feet from the wall.

Millie's eyes burned, aching from her crying, and she blinked them in irritation, hesitantly approaching him.

". . . no . . ." It was a whisper, but it reverberated around deafeningly, like their footsteps in the huge chamber.

She swallowed around a stinging in her throat, and took a step to the left, to look around him.

The bench wasn't empty. Much like the ones outside, it contained a series of clear plates. These plates, however, rather than holding tiny volumes of liquid in tiny little cylinders, held large pieces of metal. Metal rods, metal pins, even a large mesh, like –

Shaking, she took another step to the left.

Directly in front of Knives, far too large to have put on a plate, an arm was stretched out. Its fingers were laid out straight and neat, the hand arranged palm down. It was complete, elbow bent at about a forty-five degree angle to ensure the long, thin limb would fit easily on the bench. It ended in a rough series of needles, wires, and worse, and there were dark drops, splotches and smears on the bench top, showing it had not been moved since it had been removed. It was no longer covered in the leather armor that usually housed it, but she knew immediately who that arm belonged to.

There was only one person she knew that had a mechanical arm.

Knives was staring at it unblinkingly, but his eyes looked dilated and unfocused. The light, coming from an angle beneath his jaw, only served to accentuate the expression of horror on his face.

Millie stared at him, blinking a growing film out of her eyes. She'd seen that look before. It was worse than horror, worse than antipathy. For once, Knives looked exactly like Vash.

"Mr. Knives?" Her voice sounded tiny to her, tiny and quiet and trapped –

She blinked again, fighting for focus, and her brain sluggishly clicked.

"Mr. Knives!" Heedless of the danger, she reached out and grabbed his arm. And then she realized.

It was just like a normal arm.

No feathers.

It wasn't quite where it looked like it ought to be, either, and Knives reeled, stumbling to the side. He didn't tear his eyes away from the bionic arm.

"The drug! The drug you gave me!" she tried again, this time stumbling so that she was between him and Mr. Vash's arm. She didn't want to think what it meant just now. In a very few moments, she was going to fall down, down in that darkness again, and that meant that he would too. And whatever had happened to Mr. Vash was going to happen to him.

His eyes didn't see her. His expression hadn't changed. Knives was shaking from head to foot; this close to him she realized it wasn't just her focus slipping in and out. He looked as though he was going to collapse.

"Mr. Knives! You have to get out of here!" He was the only one that could make the doors open, she had to get him out –

He didn't respond.

Frantically, Millie reached out to grab his face. She missed, striking him almost squarely just beneath his right eye with the extended tips of her fingers.

As her hand fell back, finally, his eyes saw her.

He lunged at her, she fell back and didn't stop until she hit the wall, pressed against the very bench that held Vash's arm – and all the rest of the pieces of metal that had held his scarred and damaged body together. He blinked sluggishly, but his grip was strong. She tried to push his hands away and he clumsily grabbed her jaw.

However uncoordinated his movements, they did not lack strength. He was hurting her-

No! Not again. She fought to keep his face in focus, this time looking past him at the horrible chair. She would not let him do that again! It wasn't as though she had known _this place_ was in this ship! It wasn't like she'd hidden it from him!

"S-stop! Please!"

Pain exploded behind her sinuses, but this time the pale blue that bored so deeply into her own eyes was almost bearable. The edges of her vision were getting fuzzy, because of his attempts to see her mind or the drug –

Her eyes stung. Her throat stung. They were breathing the drug.

Millie held her breath, easy to do with the pressure Knives was exerting on her jaw and neck. It didn't help. His face was twisted, now, no longer anything like Vash. He looked as though he were trying to concentrate every drop of rage and viciousness into her. If she let him in, if she gave up, it would hurt so badly –

_Stop fighting me!_

His voice wasn't echoey, it was right and immediate and authoritative. Staring at his face, she realized his lips were pressed together in an intense effort –

It was in her head.

Millie gasped as the pain intensified, and this time she felt the effects of that one breath. Knives was pressing into her harder, as though he needed her to help him stay upright, and her jaw was creaking dangerously under the pressure.

Oh, it hurt so much, it was so much worse than last time –

_It will stop hurting if you stop fighting!_

She took another breath, involuntarily, and felt her knees give. She was right; she had been his support and as she slid down the wall he slid with her.

She heard a growl, one she knew must have been in her mind, and as he swam back into focus for a brief second she saw something in his eyes that jolted her fading brain.

She'd heard it in his mental 'voice.'

Desperation.

He wouldn't be desperate to kill her. He could have done it anytime he wanted, he still had the strength to do it now. He wouldn't be desperate for her to give in, he wouldn't accept defeat like that. It would be too close to begging.

It was too close to begging.

Millie tried to stare at him, feeling the pressure in her head fading slightly. He wasn't powerful enough to force her this time. Because the drug was designed to inhibit Plants like him, it was just because he was more human that it affected her.

She held her breath.

You're hesitating, Millie. You promised.

She stared at his eyes, already so glazed, and she stopped fighting.

And he was right.

It stopped hurting.

- . -

"How soon until we get a visual?"

Dr. Greer glanced at Terry, then frowned. "I'm afraid you know as well as I that we didn't get a tremendous amount of power from the Plant due to its hibernation periods. With the auxiliary systems we . . ." He trailed off. "The lab, and the control room. Nothing before."

"Our men are in the clear," the general announced. "Henry team cleared out in time."

"He's picked up the pace," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "Is it possible he can sense the fact that the battery is storing power from Vash?"

Dr. Shrew looked up from her placemat, suddenly interested in the conversation. "I don't think that's possible –"

"Neither do I, but I never thought about it before," Dr. Greer added. "My guess would be the Plant's agitation has to do with the fact that it's trying to communicate and nothing is responding."

Meryl watched the blue dot, now racing through the halls, twisting through the ship as though he'd known it all his life. He'd grown up in a ship like this. While she had taken the elevator, he took the stairs, and the orange dot was left hopelessly behind. It gave a good show of catching up to him as he tore through the large equipment chamber, and barely squeezed in behind him as A-20034 obligingly opened and then closed the door.

"Visuals," Terry announced, and the center of the table lit up.

She recognized the room instantly – it was the lab just outside the control room where she'd seen Vash - Meryl stopped the thought before it could continue, watching in grim fascination as a too-familiar form strode into view.

Knives.

She hadn't seen him in almost a year, but there was no mistaking him. No mistaking him for Vash. His close-cropped hair seemed a bit paler than usual, perhaps he'd gotten more of a tan hanging out in his Eden with his sister Plants. He was in another version of the red and white bodysuit she'd had to cut off his bleeding body when Vash had dropped him off, a little apologetically, on the guest bed. The only difference was the fact he was still carrying his gun, not in his hand –

His arm was covered in feathers.

The orange dot stumbled into view, being revealed as Knives immediately headed towards the control room door. It was a tall woman, dressed in a very familiar pair of trousers, suspenders a little twisted over a dirtied white button-up shirt and an impeccable, large collar –

Despite the fact she was carrying twin pistols that looked like the standard weapons of the guards, Meryl would have sworn it was Millie. She blinked, then checked again.

Millie cast a quick look around, then scurried after Knives.

"A woman?" the bald general murmured.

"That's Millie Thompson!" Elizabeth exclaimed, suddenly standing. "What –"

"It makes sense, given their relationship . . ." Terry trailed off, changing the view to the control room.

"The letters. Of course." Elizabeth stared straight at Meryl, but the other girl ignored it. Mixed emotions were flooding through her. Of course, Knives probably recognized her instantly and knew that keeping her near him would give him a hostage at worst, and possibly a lead into finding Vash. Then he controlled her telepathically, just as he'd done with the guards not five minutes ago.

Millie was alive.

Meryl found herself on her feet, staring at the commander. "Now that you've lured him in there, what are you going to do?" she demanded. Suddenly it mattered.

The wall behind the head chair was also a monitor, and it displayed the same thing the center of the table was, only larger. She watched Knives freeze in the doorway, eyes fixed on the back side of the room. After a moment, he seemed to walk forward in a daze, and behind him, he could see that Millie had been successful in following him in.

He was distracted, and she was armed. If she would just snap out of it!

Bryan just nodded, and Dr. Greer tapped the table.

And nothing happened.

Knives continued to move as if in a dream across the room, finally stopping just in front of a bench on the far end of the room. She hadn't really noticed it on her first trip; she'd been so shocked, and possibly purposefully distracted by both the commander and Dr. Greer. The angle didn't show what he was looking at, but it was now apparently attracting Millie's interest as well.

"We placed an aerosol delivery system to administer the redesigned Plant inhibiting drug into the ventilation system of the control room, laboratory, and staging areas," Dr. Greer finally said, apparently in answer to her question. "It's silent, so even a Plant's enhanced hearing shouldn't detect it. With any luck, it'll remain distracted until it's too late."

"Oh my god," Elizabeth said softly, and Meryl sharpened her gaze.

The feathers on Knives' arm were slowly disappearing. He didn't seem to notice.

"What will that do to Millie?" she heard herself demand, but she never looked away. Stay away from him, Millie . . . for god's sake, just stay on the other end of the room –

But Millie wasn't. She was approaching, coming ever closer to him. Finally, even she realized she was too close, close enough for him to reach out and grab her. Instead of taking steps closer, she simply stepped to the side, to see around him –

"What are they looking at?" The question had come from Elizabeth, though it was on Meryl's lips. What the hell would cause Knives to suddenly . . . act so un-Knives-like? Surely when they said they'd taken Vash out of the bulb they hadn't just left him lying there –

Oh god.

The view changed, showing them now from the door across the room, and while Knives' and Millie's head blocked a direct viewing, she saw what looked like a variety of oddly-shaped, dark objects. And something else that –

"Oh my god," she whispered aloud.

It looked like an arm.

Millie grabbed at Knives, almost knocking him over. It was especially clumsy of her, but Knives didn't seem to notice.

Of course not, Meryl, you idiot! He's looking at his brother's arm!

Of course, he'd shot the original one off, so it shouldn't be so shocking –

Millie stepped in front of Knives, mouth open as though she were yelling at him. He didn't really respond, and Meryl looked back at Dr. Shrew.

"I said, what is that going to do to her?" she repeated, in her coldest voice.

The doctor responded swiftly, eyes up and suddenly alert. "It will incapacitate her," the woman said after a second's thought. "It's going to have far more effect on a human physiology than previous Plant-type drugs, because of course these two Plants are much closer to humans than others. I imagine it will cause her to lose consciousness, and possible paralysis not to exceed a few hours afterwards. A single exposure shouldn't have any permanent ill effects."

"What will it do to him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Immediate inhibiting of its mental abilities, unconsciousness, paralysis," the doctor responded instantly. "It's very effective. I doubt it has even yet realized that its manifestation has faded."

She was referring to his Angel Arm.

Meryl blinked, staring at the screen in shock as Millie struck Knives on the face.

She got a reaction. Meryl flinched as the Plant grabbed Millie instantly, forcing her back to the wall where his brother's arm lay creepily on the light bench, and pinning her against the wall there. She struggled against him and he put a hand across her chin, forcing back her head.

He's going to kill her.

Meryl didn't dare tear her eyes away from the images, but it didn't stop her mouth. "Get someone in there! He's going to kill her!"

Her demand was met by silence, and after a split second of watching Millie struggling against Knives, she glared at the commander.

He was watching with almost an impassive face.

"Henry team –"

"No." Bryan's voice was soft but his tone was final.

She glanced between the startled bald man and his commander. "What?"

Dr. Greer was wringing his hands, obviously distressed. "The Plant will be unconscious in mere moments –"

"She doesn't have moments!" Meryl was practically screaming. She had the schematics, she'd watched them revolving around. She knew how to get to the lift from this room, and –

Meryl whipped around and started for the door, but she was caught instantly by an enormous hand. "Where-"

"Let go of me!" She struggled, tugging sharply on her arm, but she might as well have been fighting Knives herself. The bald man didn't even budge. "He's going to kill her!"

"I hope not," Bryan murmured. "But we can't send anyone else in there."

"Please, Ms. Stryfe," Phillip tried, "the room is sealed to allow the gas to work. Our men would be incapacitated just like your friend and the Plant-"

She stared at the monitor, watching Knives bear Millie to the floor. She was struggling less, now, he was probably choking the life out of her.

Meryl redoubled her efforts, and without quite knowing how his arms were suddenly bands of steel around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He turned her away from the monitor, but she craned her neck towards the table.

"Let me go! He's killing her -"

"You can't leave this room," the general said regretfully. "I'm sorry."

It was harder to see the image on the conference room table, it was flat instead of projected on the wall. But Meryl could still make out the exact moment when Millie started to convulse. Knives still had her pinned, and red blood began flooding from her nose.

"NO!"

Meryl stared in shock as Millie's convulsions grew worse, and her eyes rolled back in her head. She'd dropped the guns long ago. Still Knives held her, pressing himself upright with the arm that was killing her. Meryl forgot to struggling, just watching as the seconds ticked by, and the form of Knives finally toppled. Even in unconsciousness he didn't release Millie, and her limp form collapsed beneath the weight of his.

Her legs twitched twice more, and then she was as still as he was.

Elizabeth was gripping the edge of the table with one hand, the other covering her mouth. Neither Dr. Greer nor Terry would meet Meryl's gaze, but the severe woman actually sought out her eyes.

"I will do my best," she said shortly, then turned towards the commander. "It's safe to send in the teams."

"Clear the air and get someone in there," he responded quietly.

- . -

**Author's Notes:** So see, the stupid humans in the SEEDs ship had a plan all along! Who needs a pesky Vash to save them. You might notice that the bald man is a general and Bryan, who is clearly in charge, is a commander. There's a reason for that normally odd combination, seeing as a general is higher-ranking than a commander. It will get covered.

You might also note that this insinuates that there was indeed, at one point, a Tessla. That is the single image I've stolen from the manga (which I have ordered and am waiting for impatiently! The two books, and vols 1-8. But that's not the END! I'll have to wait until the end of the year to find out how it ENDS!) and yes, I know it's cheating, but it was too perfect not to steal.

This chapter was also quickly-written, and I caught what I could on a read-through. I apologize if there are mistakes in this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer in previous chapters. In which Vash and Knives are naked, but nothing exciting happens. Reposted because I found a typo.

- . -

She was smiling.

He liked that. It meant she was happy, and that made him feel very warm inside. He smiled back, shyly, and she giggled.

He liked that too.

But she didn't come any closer. She seemed content to simply smile at him across the space between them. It was a space, he decided, but he wasn't sure if it was a big one or a little one. There was nothing to compare it to or measure it against. He wasn't certain it mattered. Perhaps they were just next to each other. The distance, whatever it was, was comfortable. He could see her, and she could see him.

They stayed like that for a time. When it seemed like he ought to, he moved closer to her.

She giggled again, and his smile broadened.

"Hello," he said in a voice that seemed the right volume.

She held up a slender finger to her lips, but did not respond with words.

He blinked at her, momentarily confused, but she continued to smile, and his faltering grin grew bright again.

"You don't want to talk, huh."

Again she held up her finger, and her large, round eyes looked very pointedly to her right. He followed her gaze, seeing only space. It could have been a tiny space or a huge one. There was no way to tell.

He wondered what was in that space that he couldn't see.

He wondered what would happen if he moved into that space. Since only one thing could take up a space at any given time, maybe he would encounter it and find it.

She shook her head, black hair falling around her ears. He was sure it was black, because it was very dark. And there was light, so he could tell the difference.

And if it the hair was black, then the light was white. Or close; somehow it didn't seem pure.

She followed his gaze, then shook her head again.

He smiled. "Okay. I won't then."

Her smile wavered into a very mischievous admonishment, and he immediately stared down at his feet, feigning abashment. When he opened his eyes he saw his boots.

He was wearing boots.

He was wearing large boots, brown with buckles and a metal plate strapped to the bottom arch. He could see that they went high on his legs, and between the panels of a startlingly crimson duster a round metal kneeguard twinkled dully at him.

He stared at it for a long time, finally reaching up a mechanical finger to reposition tinted glasses. It changed all the colors but her hair.

"Thanks for helping me," he said. "Are you kicking me out now?"

Her look of admonishment became more stern, and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand.

"Are you afraid someone will hear us?"

He looked again to her right, seeing nothing in the space. She stamped her foot impatiently, attracting his attention again before pointing.

She was pointing at him.

He glanced down at himself again, this time setting his sights higher. Or lower, depending on his perspective. He looked at the crimson duster, noting the stray bulletholes that allowed sand to trickle down into his body armor now and then.

But he didn't feel any sand caught against his skin.

He didn't feel anything against his skin.

Confused, he unbuttoned the central panel, pulling it open to reveal his chest.

There was blood everywhere. It was startlingly red, it was the duster in his hands. He was covered in it.

He looked back at her in shock, and she gave him a stern look in return, folding her arms across her chest to express her displeasure.

He looked back down at himself disbelievingly. They were all gone. The things that held him together, that chilled him through and through on all the cold nights, that smelted his flesh when he lay on the hot sand. Where they had been was now nothing; his blood poured from the holes as sand would have. It trailed down his leggings and kneeguard and boots, until he was wearing nothing at all that wasn't thickening blood.

And the space between them was less than it was before.

As he stared, she touched him, gently, across a hole that gaped as wide as a mouth might have. Where she touched him, he shivered, and found that she had filled the hole with light. It was brighter than his skin, and it kept the dark blood within him.

She then looked at him expectantly.

He stared down at himself, horrified at the amount of blood that was pouring out of him.

"You can't be serious," he tried weakly.

She thinned her lips grimly, and stared at his left arm.

Almost afraid, he followed her gaze, followed it to an empty space where there ought to have been his arm. It looked like it had when it first was gone, only it wore a halo, a band of light that made it look almost two inches longer than it had before.

He bit back a noise, starting to shake. He felt sick, and suddenly the light that made her hair dark seemed even less white.

"No," he pleaded, in a voice that was less than before. "I can't. Please, not yet -"

She looked disappointed, and he stared away to her right, escaping to the space there and not caring who had been there before, listening.

- . -

The ache pounded on, a combination of sob-less weeping, a cracked cheekbone, and the strain of exhaustion. It forced her to reflexively blink, which in turn changed the pointless point she was staring at so sightlessly.

It had been a long time since Meryl had cried.

Or maybe that wasn't true. Maybe it was just that she didn't remember feeling ashamed about it in a long time.

After all, she had cried when Wolfwood had died. More for Millie than for him, his absence was shocking only because of what it had done to her best friend.

Maybe that wasn't true either.

Less than nine months had passed since she'd last cried. Not so long after all.

"I'm not old enough for this, Millie," she sighed into the white. White panels, white floor, diffuse white light. White sheets, white skin.

"We're not old enough to keep having people die around us. That's supposed to happen when you're forty, and I'm not even thirty yet. Not even close."

White eyelids that didn't move.

"So, the best thing for you to do would be to open your eyes and tell me what happened."

As hours of her previous requests had gone unanswered, so did this one.

"You're in the best medical facility on the planet, you know," she reminded the still, pale figure, idly playing with cool fingers. She knew it wasn't because of the color, but it seemed that this white ship sucked the warmth out of a person. Millie was beneath two blankets, but she was still so cold.

And thinking of Millie and cold in the same sentence was so wrong.

"And they'll fix whatever he did to you," she continued, exhaustion and the favoring of her right cheek smoothing the raw edges of her voice. "You'll get better, Millie. You don't have a choice, so just do it already."

But Millie didn't move. None of the lines and waves and dots and beeps changed. She blinked at the imaginary grains of sand in her eyes, staring at the wall across from the high, unfamiliar bed she'd kept her vigil by for the past several hours. It seemed longer. It had been, since Knives' attack; at first they'd given her a medical exam and led her back to her suite, her prison, telling her they'd let her know when they had news.

And Dr. Shrew had been true to her word in that; she could bet the woman would also be true to her words regarding Vash and Knives.

Meryl was surprised they'd allow her in the same general area of the ship that Vash was presumably staying in. Presumably they felt there was no threat. She was one person against a literal army.

An army that had contained Millions Knives.

An army that had eliminated the single largest threat to the humans on Gunsmoke.

An army that had done what she'd set out to do. Find Millie, and stop Knives. Both those goals were obtained. There was no need to question, no need to whine because it didn't happen the way she'd planned.

Millie needed her now. In a week or so she'd be released to break the news to Bernardelli, and then she'd have a whole new set of problems to deal with. It was odd, but she was looking forward to that paperwork.

She was looking more forward to the idea of Millie having to do it with her.

Meryl Stryfe forced her stiff body to stretch, blinking a few more times and searching the spartan room for something, anything to stare at besides the white. As with most of the ship, there were no windows, but a light mounted on the back of the headboard created a diffuse glow in the room. Millie looked positively tiny in the huge white bed, her lighter brown hair trailing across the pillow. She was nearly as pale as the pillowcase, and the lightest mint-colored blanket was pulled up almost to her neck. Meryl had pried out her left arm just so she could hold Millie's hand.

She almost looked like a child.

She almost looked like Wolfwood.

It had been hard to lay him out, but she'd been there, because Millie didn't have the heart. His lips had been that pale, a little blue-tinged like hers. His skin had looked like something that wasn't skin anymore, somehow. Somehow it had been like a skin-shaped covering draped over him rather than his own.

She never wanted to see that kind of skin on Millie Thompson. Never.

"I wish it had been me," she whispered to the other girl. "You didn't deserve this, Millie."

This. This was the thing that Dr. Shrew didn't describe past the phrase 'direct trauma to the brain.' Possibly the last tiny bit of telekinesis he could muster, not enough to cause her skin to bruise but powerful enough to cause bleeding in her brain.

She was so strong. The thin, cool fingers that Meryl had wrapped her own around were so strong. Strong enough to carry Wolfwood's cross like Vash had, once. Strong enough to toss boulders larger than Millie herself. Strong enough to survive Millions Knives.

But her brain, it wasn't any stronger than anyone else's. Some might have argued weaker, but Meryl knew better. Behind that childlike face was a calculating, quick mind.

She had all the smarts in the world. It just never occurred to her to be mean.

She was innocent.

And innocents died around Vash the Stampede.

She grimaced, part in guilt for the thought and part because grimacing sent the dulled ache of her cheekbone up another notch. "I guess one of us had it coming, huh," she chided herself. "It was only a matter of time before it all fell apart."

But that wasn't right. It hadn't come to one of them.

This time, it had come to Vash. Vash and Millie.

The two innocents.

And it had come to Knives. Knives, who lay probably in the next room in a drug-induced coma. Kept imprisoned by the chemicals that had been perfected on his twin.

As for Vash, he was probably in a coldsleep tube by then.

If he was alive at all.

Meryl slouched further into the wheeled, backed chair and let it slant on its axis. She re-arranged Millie's arm on the bed, laying out the too-cold fingers carefully.

It sort of looked like Vash's mechanical arm.

He was white, too. Like everything else on this ship. Whiter even than Millie. A white glow on a black screen, curled and distorted and misshapen.

Another tear crawled from beneath her lower eyelid, and she sighed. Of all the times she'd seen him, even the horrible times, never had he looked like that. She'd seen him twisted with pain, she'd seen his eyes glow with inhuman anger. She'd seen his fists curl when he wanted to lash out, knowing he had the power to wipe his enemy from existence but never even once considering using it.

Maybe he should have. Just this once.

Meryl closed her eyes, knowing her body would force her brain to cooperate eventually. It only mattered that she was here when Millie woke up. It didn't matter if she was awake at the time, or saw those eyes open. It only mattered that Millie would know she was there. That she wouldn't be alone.

It had bothered her that he'd been alone. Chosen to be alone.

Even though Meryl had reminded her that he'd chosen to die with God. If he truly ever had believed in God. And even if he hadn't, she did, and she knew without a doubt that He was there with Nicholas, even if he couldn't see Him.

And that meant God was here, too, with them.

God and these creations of His that thought they were gods. That had created the Plants in their own image. That chose now to destroy them for their wickedness.

"We get sand instead of water, huh," she murmured aloud.

An ocean of it, which would make this ship the Ark.

This Ark, buried itself beneath the waves.

She was too tired to wax philosophical, and the image of the ship tossing in a sand sea faded to a deep sleep.

- . -

"You're missing the point."

"You're too focused on the total casualties. I agree they're unacceptable, but-"

"If we agree, why protest every time I bring it up?"

Elizabeth entered the chamber quietly, nodding slightly to her escort as he left her at the door. The meeting was well under way, which was to be expected. There was no reason to include a civilian in internal affairs, obviously, though apparently Commander Grey had miscalculated the amount of time necessary to finish them up.

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, though she wouldn't call it an acknowledgement. It was more as though she had merely caught his eye as it was passing to another speaker.

Elizabeth took a seat at the end of the long, glowing table, ignoring the twinge in her arm. Dr. Shrew had set the fracture well, and given her something for the pain. She'd taken her arm out of the sling to prevent it from getting in her way at this briefing, and the splint that kept her wrist still was slim enough to fit beneath her blouse sleeve.

Sooner or later she was going to need to wash that blouse. And herself.

Elizabeth rested the aching limb on the table and began interacting with the panel there. She took care to sigh deeply but quietly, attracting everyone's attention though quite clearly trying not to.

Her technique worked. After a moment, they continued as though she were not there.

"The point," the commander spoke into the sudden silence, "is that we lost two parties before we had sufficient intel to start getting our men out of harm's way. Let's start at the beginning."

General Phillip seemed to be expending effort to control his voice. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she brought her current logistical plan up on her own panel.

"We know the advanced systems worked. The log of detections is in front of everyone."

There were a few muted beeps as everyone brought that information to the fore. She almost smiled as she noted her panel was not included.

"As you can see from the logs, there was no anomaly. The Plant's vehicle was detected one thousand yarz out, just as the vehicle previously was."

"Then what the bleedin' hell happened? The paging system went down?" The voice was heavily accented, and not one she recognized. Of course, now that their first mission was completed, it was only to be expected that the lesser-ranked military leaders and supervisors would be included in the briefings.

"The system failed to notify both the on-call technician and forward the alert to all pre-configured PDAs," the general confirmed.

"The application and security logs timestamped between twenty hundred hours and twenty-two hundred hours are missing," added the familiar voice of the commander's assistant. "And the shadow copied volumes that housed the backups of those log files were overwritten with what looks like a block text dump. The data is gone."

"Do we have a record of who was logged into the root system at that time?"

"Almost everyone. All standard personnel were on alert and those soldiers needing to check out weapons were on the system as well."

"Security information on the server closets?" The accented voice again.

"Kept on the same volumes as the shadow copies," Terry replied.

"Do you have any useful information, Private Asoaurd? We're all very impressed with your homework, but could you cut to the chase?"

"Could the Plant have done this?" the commander asked suddenly, and the grumbling voices quieted.

"In the case it failed, to spread suspicion through the ranks?" Phillip mused. "I doubt it, Bryan."

"I agree," he said softly, "but the only other option was that someone specifically aided the Plant infiltration of the New Kennedy. I don't want to make that assumption if there's another answer."

"Do you know exactly when the volume over-writing took place?" Elizabeth finally glanced up, having no other excuse to continue ignoring the conversation, and found Dr. Greer staring rather intently at the table. "There should at least be a timestamp on that."

"At twenty hundred forty-two," Terry said, mostly for the others' benefit. "Which coincides with the Plant's activity within the New Kennedy."

"So it could have," the accented officer muttered. "Or anyone else could have, to take advantage of the distraction of the crew."

"No," Dr. Greer shook his head. "We were locked out of the systems still running through A-20034 by twenty hundred forty-two." He trailed off thoughtfully. "This would have required administrative rights, but that administrator would have had to have been logged in prior to the Plant's manipulation of A-20034 and also been disabled at that time."

"It could have been a scheduled task," Terry offered, but then frowned. "But it would have authenticated as a user at the time the task was run, not prior."

"So no one could have begun the volume over-writing during the Plant's attack besides Knives or A-20034?"

Most of the officers avoided looking directly at the commander, and after a moment he sighed.

"Think on it, gentlemen. We can't close the current protocol until this issue is resolved. Faber, take the systems completely apart if you have to, but get me an accurate timeline of executed commands if nothing else."

The accented man nodded sharply, and Bryan caught Elizabeth's eye.

"Now, I believe Ms. Boulaise has put together logistics requirements for the eventual re-location of the stolen Plants?"

She smiled confidently at the room, at home with their stares. Elizabeth was constantly surprised at how easily Commander Gray was able to quiet a room full of squabbling advisors. He never interrupted them, nor did anyone ever interrupt him. He never had to change his tone to one of sarcasm, or menace, or even really raise his voice. While she'd perfected the volume-less crowd control technique years ago, she could not silence a room full of engineers with a simple word as completely effectively as he could.

Perhaps it was a boon of being in the military.

"As you gentlemen might have already guessed, transporting a non-humanoid Plant a significant distance is no easy – nor inexpensive – task," she began, getting directly to the point. "I started this graph as requested, assuming the missing Plants were located and recaptured in perfect health. As you can see from alpha one, even a sedated Plant emits energy that can cause degradation of human tissue after sustained and prolonged periods of contact. This can be negated with standard bulb technician gear, of which your inventory records twenty suits."

She waited for everyone to catch up, scrolling to the second page of her presentation thoughtfully.

- . -

It was amazing, to see them beside one another.

Only perhaps twenty feet and a thick panel of clear polymer separated them, and the observation window linking the two theaters was coated to prevent glare. Looking at the both of them, it was hard to believe they were really twins at all.

It was hard to believe Knives was a Plant.

He was laid flat on a metal operating table, completely exposed beneath the flooding white lights, looking for all the world like a cadaver about to be autopsied. The room notably lacked the equipment it might normally have held; there was no need for it. The Plant never moved saved a slight rise and fall of his chest, never protested the cold metal beneath his bared skin.

Millions Knives was deep in the coma Dr. Shrew had prescribed for him. His brain activity and energy outputs were steady and absolutely what she expected.

It figured he'd be as perfect at that as everything else.

Though he was the same height, the same breadth of shoulder, he was more filled out. His musculature told of a steady stream of calories and perfect exertion. His skin bore no burns, not even sunspots. Five round scars dotted his arms, legs, and stomach, each direct and none through a major blood vessel. They had healed well, better than most of Vash's scars, so that they were simply slightly raised, a slightly angrier red in color and a slightly smoother texture.

He knew this body was not as old as Vash's. The Plant's twin had shot him at point-blank range with his Angel Arm, resulting in tremendous trauma to his lower body. There was no seam across Knives' torso or groin, no indication of where his original body had been so invisibly melded with his new flesh.

Vash's suspicions had to have been correct. Only another Plant could have generated such a product.

After all, a Plant had generated the original.

He turned away from the window, looking down on the now unfamiliar body beside him. Vash had always been rail-thin, a physique his lifestyle had not improved. Constantly undernourished, but then again, he didn't have to consume calories to survive. Constantly dehydrated, which did seem to have an overall effect on his health.

Constantly being carved up by the humans he worked so very diligently to protect.

And all their repairwork removed, leaving him with what little of his original flesh had had managed to keep.

He'd been bathed twice now, the first time a rough attempt to get him sanitary and hygienic, the second to bring down a skyrocketing fever. Clearly Vash was having difficulty maintaining a steady body temperature, probably a mixture of the cocktail of drugs in his system as much as the modified organs fighting within his body.

He too lay naked, though so much of him was covered by absorptive bandages he might as well have been clothed. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside of that torn body; periodically he was hemorrhaging energy, making it too dangerous to use the one-of-a-kind imaging technology Dr. Shrew was so eager to try. He was honestly surprised she was allowing him so much time with the Plant, considering her curiosity. Some of the most critical hours were passing as Vash struggled to determine his true form.

His arm, the intact one, was still elongated, too thin and tapering to a ridiculously delicate wrist and impossibly curled fingers. Despite the inhibitors it had not returned to its humanoid shape, which didn't bode well.

The scar tissue forming at an accelerated rate across his body was possibly more alarming, if only because it had added another inch to his left stump in the past four hours.

Matter didn't get created from thin air. He was already in bad shape, and of course it figured he'd choose that time to decide to regenerate a lost limb. God only knew what his body was consuming to produce that flesh.

It was probably the reason for the energy hemorrhage, actually. Just as another Plant had done for Knives, Vash was doing for himself.

"You have bad timing," he told the young man softly.

Vash didn't respond.

A time passed, in which Vash's temperature climbed another degree, and he was not surprised to hear the doors open. He was surprised that only one pair of feet walked in, and bird-like claws held not a syringe but a folder.

He greeted her by flatly meeting her eyes, and she smiled humorlessly.

"I see its progress has not significantly improved your mood."

He returned her expression. "I'm not certain I consider a raging fever and continued blood loss progress."

She shrugged, coming closer to Vash, still not seeing him behind those reflective, round frames. "To be honest, I'm startled it's survived this long. That is in no small part directly related to your efforts, and I am thankful for every moment."

He shook his head, keeping his comments to himself. Every breath Vash took was another piece of data for her to record and analyze. That was all his survival would be to her. Pieces of data.

If not for his surety that Vash would suffer this fate twelve times over to protect them all from Knives, he would have ended the young man's suffering the moment they'd left him alone in the room with Vash those few hours ago.

"But that is not why I have interrupted you," she continued, offering the folder.

He didn't accept it. "You scanned Knives."

She raised an eyebrow. "I did," she agreed. "Once the inhibitors work their way out of its system we'll begin improving its compatibility with the current bulb's modifications. I expect we'll have it installed within twenty-four hours." She paused, and uncharacteristically smiled. "Though I suppose I should add a buffer of two hours in there. I think we all agree it should still be comatose throughout the installation procedure to prevent the . . . vigorous protest its twin exhibited."

He wondered if Knives was really powerful enough to destroy a bulb from the inside.

Oh. Knives.

He chose to keep that point to himself. Likely Knives would fall into the same state Vash had, if forced to the same form as his sister Plants. Peripherally aware only, probably not capable of generating enough emotion to manifest knives. They'd keep him under maintenance sedation for a week, probably, to allow him to get used to his new world.

He stole a glance at the other man, exactly as he had been moments ago.

Such an agreeable coma.

"I actually wanted your opinion on another matter," she continued into the silence. "The injuries the Plant caused Millie Thompson."

He didn't pause then, taking the proffered folder and opening it immediately. The room was mostly white, so he didn't have to hold the scans far to read them in detail.

Intracranial bleeding, sporadically smattered across her frontal lobe.

He looked at the next one, taken at a different view. The damage seemed to follow the branching of the main blood vessels there, stretching exactly one-hundredth of a millimeter into the surrounding tissues. It looked as though someone had simply caused all the fluid in those vessels to suddenly boil outward.

"I was guessing telekinesis, though obviously diagnosis is rather useless."

He stared at the third scan, confirming the first two. The damage was very precise, but if the vessels had been damaged . . .

"Is she still alive?"

Dr. Shrew nodded. "Yes. Furthermore, she's not in a coma. My assistants are running a few tests now, but it appears as though she's actively engaged in REM sleep."

Dreaming. She was dreaming.

If all the major blood vessels in her frontal lobe had ruptured, she would be dead.

"So the vessels didn't rupture. This blood came from somewhere else," he mused aloud.

"I came to the same conclusion," she admitted. "It would appear the Plant damaged the tissues immediately surrounding the main blood vessels, causing the nearby capillaries to collapse and thus the bleeding."

Why would Knives only damage her? Was there a limit to the types of matter he could control with his telekinesis? Obviously it had been a touchy subject for Vash, and he'd been hesitant to push the metal powers question when Vash was so physically damaged. The last thing he needed was for the man to start experimenting with his telepathy, and get a whiff of what normal humans actually _thought_ about on a daily basis.

"I also came to the conclusion that this damage was not intended to kill her."

That much was nearly certain. How he could have accomplished this damage so carefully, already inhibited . . . Doc snuck another glance through the glass.

"I believe its intent was to permanently mentally handicap her." Dr. Shrew was staring at Vash again. "To make her childlike, peripherally aware. To make her appear to be in the same state as a conscious Plant. Perhaps in an effort to encourage us to personify the non-humanoid Plants."

Gather sympathy for the sister Plants he knew he couldn't protect anymore? Given how vehemently Vash protected humans, there was no reason to believe that Knives didn't also possess the same fervor to guard that which was valuable to him.

But Knives hadn't made a habit of making statements with living humans. He found their dead bodies to speak loudly enough.

"You believe your soldiers will locate his home and the missing Plants."

She snorted. "Of course we will. There's only so much surface area to explore. Assuming the Plants don't die from exposure, it's only a matter of time."

And that was true. Even if the freed Plants stayed exactly where they were, they'd eventually be found. No matter how fast Vash – and presumably Knives – could move, they were within a day or two of human settlements. A well-performed search of about a thousand-mile radius of all the major settlements would turn them up.

With neither Knives nor Vash to protect them, he wondered what the newly freed Plants would do. If they were even aware, as Dr. Shrew suggested they were not.

"I don't agree with your diagnosis," he said softly, folding the scans back into their cardboard and handing it back to her. "I do not believe the attack was meant to mentally handicap Millie Thompson."

She stared at him, eyes hidden behind a white glare. "Oh?"

He shook his head, still staring through the glass at Knives. "He wouldn't go to the effort. He believes humans are worthless, and wouldn't understand so subtle a point. It was an attempt to kill her. He was too weak to tear the main blood vessels, but strong enough to tear away their moorings in the capillaries. Nothing more."

Not that she didn't have a point. Diagnosis was moot. Given the damage, whether it was his intention or not, Knives had effectively ended the productive life of Millie Thompson.

"I see. What a lucky woman," Dr. Shrew said softly.

- . -

**Author's Notes:** Hopefully it's not terribly apparent, but I had a hell of a time with this chapter. I have lost count of the number of times I've re-written it. So I apologize for the delay. I'm still not happy with it, but I am beginning to suspect I never will be. I know it's a bit of a let-down after the long wait, but it was necessary for the pacing. Since, y'know, I'm not mean enough to just wrap it up neatly in a chapter and have Vash and Knives donate their power to terraforming Gunsmoke or anything.

. . . hey, that's a pretty good idea, actually . . .

Kidding! Next chapter will pick up significantly as far as the plot is concerned, and after that I think it's going to fly by. Thank you guys for sticking with me, and as always, if you notice anything weird let me know!

Also, I have read Trigun 1 and 2, and Max 1 and 2. OH MY GOD! That's all I have to say. Holy cow. Plus, Knives? Now I totally get the incest angle. I don't agree with it, but I get it.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimers in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- . -

Glass cracked sharply beneath her step, and she flinched.

Everything was all wrong.

She knew it, long before she opened her eyes to look. The very air around her felt like it was burning, boring into her skin with tiny particles of fire. The ground beneath her bare feet was covered in glass; she could feel the sharp edges clearly beneath her usually ticklish sole. A rough wind cried as it crawled between what sounded like enormous pieces of stone, yanking at her hair as thought it wanted to rip it away.

But she felt no pain.

She opened her eyes, not surprised to find her chin resting on her chest. Her feet were bare; her toes were a bit shorter than she remembered them, her feet daintier. At her ankles started a pair of blue jeans far more tight-fitting than she'd ever worn. Though her Big Middle Sister had made her try on a pair, once, at the general store, just to see what they looked like. Heaven knew her mother would have thrown a fit if she'd seen her in something so inappropriate at that age.

Her shirt was simple white cotton, tucked into the beltless jeans, much more snug than she was used to. When she shifted her hair out of her eyes she felt the pull of a fine chain, and the tug of a pendant beneath the blouse.

Black hair. She had black hair.

She stared at the ends for a moment, then dropped the length back to her shoulders, where the lonely wind tugged it back over her shoulder again.

Where am I?

She took another step, some of the glass sticking weirdly to her skin, and stopped before turning her foot over. The glass was a mixture of clear and inky black, and several shards of it were buried deep. Her blood oozed around the wounds, dyeing the crystals red, or as red as it could in the odd, brown sand. When she put her foot back down she could see more blood, long since dried, across a large piece of the clear glass.

She was walking on glass, and there was no pain.

The glass littered the uneven, sandy ground for several hundred yarz all around her. Brown sand covered some of it, clearly showing the wind was intent on burying the debris. It was having a little less luck with the mountain of it that stretched almost as high as the eye could see, far into the horizon on both sides of her.

She was clearly standing on a road of sorts, the ground was too firm to be merely sand. It was bedrock if nothing else, and a great city had been erected here. Or maybe not a city. The pieces she could make out were not the right shape to be building wreckage, too denticulated and large. But there was too much of it to be a SEEDs ship, not even one as big as –

She stopped again, unable to finish the thought.

Everything was all wrong.

A piece of the wreckage caught her eye, and she followed the odd shape upwards, almost as far as the eye could see, to where it poked jaggedly into a sand sky.

The very clouds were clotted with sand, blotting out anything else. There was too much light for it to be night, even with all five moons visible, but the sand clouds were far too thick for her to find the bright spots that would mark the twin suns. She searched for a moment before a brilliant flash of light arced across her vision, briefly illuminating the ruins before her.

She was staring at what was once a plant.

It was the biggest one, or remnants of, that she'd ever seen. Easily ten times the size of the plant in New Oregon. All that was left was a bit of the base of the internal and external bulbs, and the fixture they attached to.

The glass. That was where it had come from.

She waited patiently for the crash that she knew would have to have accompanied a lighting strike of that magnitude, but her ears heard nothing but the howling wind. It was choked with sand, that was why it felt so hot, and it carried a burnt smell, as though the gusts themselves had been singed by the massive explosions that had forced all that earth into the air. It also carried less identifiable, more offensive odors, and she turned her head sharply to the right as her brain started contemplating what they might have once been.

And then she saw her.

Or maybe it was a him. It was hard to tell; the keening wind was tearing at the long, pale blonde hair as vigorously as it was hers, and the figure was slight. A loose blue shirt billowed around the child's body, not torn despite the coarseness of the air, and thin arms were wrapped around knobby knees.

The child was sitting not fifteen yarz away, in the glass, staring up at the wreckage of the bulb.

She paused, watching that odd blue in this burnt sienna world.

New Oregon.

Where had that name come from? Why did that bulb seem so huge? When had she last seen a bulb like that?

The child didn't move, and as that mop of blonde hair squirmed in the wind, she could periodically make out a round face, wide eyes.

Then it raised a thin arm and wiped at its face. It was a fast, angry motion, and she knew immediately that she was looking at a little boy.

A sad little boy.

She hurried then, grinding the crushed glass into her feet but not caring. It was only a few strides to him, and before she was close enough to touch him he looked up.

Sky-blue eyes, wide with surprise and rimmed with red. They were the first feature she saw. The pale blonde hair framed a very young face, no more than seven or eight. His nose turned up adorably, and his small mouth was slightly open in surprise.

"Don't cry, little one," she heard herself soothe, crouching down beside him so her height didn't intimidate him. There wasn't as much debris there, but she could see various scratches and cuts on his bared legs. He too was barefoot, and he wrapped his arms around his knees as though he were cold.

He looked at her solemnly for a moment, then burst into fresh tears.

"They made him sick!" the little boy wailed. "They made him sick and he's not getting better!"

She frowned sympathetically, resisting the urge to wrap the little boy in her arms. His motion had been angry, and she knew better than to wrestle with a distraught little boy.

. . . why? Why did she know how to deal with little boys?

Why couldn't she remember?

"They're going to do the same to me," the boy stated miserably. He turned away from her and resumed looking up. Looking at the bulb.

She followed his gaze, staring into the sandy sky, waiting for another flash of lightning. It didn't take long; there were so many particulates in the air already dry from the explosions that a tremendous amount of static was building up. It illuminated the wrecked bulb, the source of all the glass, the center of the mountain of wreckage.

Another bolt immediately followed the first, crawling between clouds and giving them several seconds of unbroken light. The bottom of the internal bulb, the dark glass, was still intact. Almost like a little bed, stretching out into nothing. It had to have been a trick of the light, but it looked as though there were a figure cradled in the curve of it-

Another little boy?

"No, no they won't." She put a gentle hand on the blonde boy's shoulder, causing him to flinch. "I'll keep you safe."

"You said that before!" the child screamed, yanking himself away from her touch so that he was sprawled, facing her. A few rocks scattered at his sudden movement. His hands dug into the sand beneath him, and his eyes were full of accusation and betrayal. "You said you'd keep us safe, Rem! You said you wouldn't let them hurt us!"

She hesitated before his sudden fury, her hand still outstretched, and the boy slunk to his feet before her. "You said we'd be safe!" he repeated, but some of the anger had subsided. "You said you'd take care of us."

Did she? Had she made such a promise? She looked back towards the bulb, but there wasn't enough light to see by.

Had she let something horrible happen to a child?

She bit her lip, bringing her gaze back to the little boy. Only he wasn't so little, anymore. He was older, maybe fourteen. The soft blue cloth was gone, replaced by a crimson and white suit that fit him snuggly. His face was much more angular, his hair much shorter and somehow paler. The look he gave her was not surprise and horror, but calculating.

"Of course, I suppose I prevented you, didn't I," he said softly, in a slightly deeper voice. "It was your mistake, but I created the situation. I didn't . . . I didn't consider every angle."

He stood before her proudly, much straighter than any fourteen year old had the right to hold himself. The wind wasn't able to get as good a grasp on him, it seemed to slink by apologetically even as it ripped at her blouse, twining through her ebony hair.

He looked so familiar to her . . .

"I didn't mean to kill you," he said, as if by way of explanation. "I engineered everything so that you'd be in the pod with us. I didn't . . . think you'd leave us. Leave him."

She blinked at him, then back at the bulb. Had she left him somewhere? Had she abandoned them? Was there a little boy trapped in that fragile glass, about to fall?

The older boy followed her gaze. "I can't reach him in there." His voice was no less miserable than the younger boy's had been. "I can't help him, Rem. I can't get to him."

He was right; she could see immediately that he was too small. The detritus and rubble that made up the first wall were far too tall for the boy to climb. Though he seemed lithe and athletic, he simply lacked the reach. All of the small pieces of junk were too sharp or not stable enough to be used to climb. And even past the first barricade were a dozen others, a veritable, jaggy collection of impassable cliffs too sharp to traverse.

"Is he alive?" She wouldn't have just left him there. She wouldn't have.

The older boy gave her a considering look. "I think so," he mumbled after a moment. "It's hard for me to tell. I don't feel so good." He looked a little surprised at the last admission.

Two arms of electricity reached out from the cloud directly above the bulb, and there was no doubt that the easy curve of what had once been a bulb cradled a figure, a larger figure than the boy beside her.

Could she reach him? Had she truly abandoned them? Had she left them both to die in this terrible burnt world?

"But isn't this the same choice?"

She stared at the boy, taken aback.

He didn't seem to notice her reaction. "It's a choice between saving us or saving them. There's no pod this time, Rem. You can't save both. You tried, and you put that stupid idea into his head because you got lucky. But this is different. They're killing us, Rem. You'll chose them over us again, won't you."

He kept calling her Rem. And it felt . . . wrong. It felt all wrong.

She would never choose to sacrifice children. Not even in a world like this.

Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around the hardened figure in front of her. "Never," she whispered fiercely. "I'll never let them kill you. Either of you."

He held himself stiffly away from her, but she rested her head against his and gradually he relaxed slightly. Hesitantly he put his arms around her, and she hugged him tighter.

"You left us," he spoke into her shoulder, so that it was muffled.

"No," she told him, just as fiercely. And she knew it was true. "Whatever happened, it doesn't matter anymore. We need to go. We'll go and get him together."

He shuddered in her arms, and his voice was shaking when he replied. " . . . I think he's dying, Rem . . ."

She squeezed him once more, then released him and pushed him back until she could look into his face. He was trying very hard not to cry, and she was certain he was doing a better job of it than she was. This, this one thing in this whole terrible world, felt right.

"Then we better hurry."

- . -

Meryl shook her head vigorously, dislodging the excess water before running the towel over her hair again. She was glad, for the umpteenth time, that it was short. It allowed her to go from jumping in the shower to professionally dressed in less than ten minutes.

This time it had taken her much closer to fifteen, since she'd been particularly filthy. Enough that the two young men that had gone into Millie's room had all but chased her out, citing her hygiene as much as her exhaustion as a reason for her to go to her quarters. They had promised to notify her the second there was a change, but of course she hadn't believed them.

Which was why, after taking a two hour nap that had suddenly become seven, she was concerned about those extra five minutes. Millie had been asleep since the attack, which had been, now, thirteen hours ago. Surely, even if she'd been as tired as Meryl had been, she'd wake up soon.

And she wanted to be there.

They'd taken her Bernadelli uniform, which she'd known they would, and a small part of her hoped they'd incinerated it. They'd then provided her with the light grey uniform of a civilian, she guessed, or at least not the dark grey of an officer or the white of a technician. It didn't look quite like the commander's, so she assumed it meant she was a civilian.

It wasn't a prison uniform, at any rate.

Probably.

A glance in the mirror showed a petite, bright-eyed woman in fetching black hair, sporting two silver earrings that oddly matched a light grey jacket. Beneath it was a light grey tanktop that seemed made of soft cotton, and the slacks weren't terribly uncomfortable. She was pretty sure it had been cut for a male officer, judging by the way the bust of the jacket fit as well as the crotch of the trousers, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

They were still being kind, almost reverent, to her. It unnerved her more than she could say.

Meryl stepped out into the main suite, sitting on the low bed to step into the matching boots. They were a little large, but not terribly so, and she stomped both her feet to make sure she'd slipped them on completely.

"You sound just like our honor guard," an amused voice observed, and Meryl yelped. She was also pretty sure she jumped about three feet into the air.

The door to the main hall was open, and the familiar shape of Private Asoaurd leaned on the frame casually. He held up a placating hand.

"Easy there, Ms. Stryfe. I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you saw me when you came out of the washroom."

She hid her surprise with a scowl. "Don't you think I would have said something to you if I'd seen you standing there?"

His smile was wide. "Not really, ma'am," he admitted. "I get the feeling I'm not your favorite person around here."

She stared at him a second before she shook her head. "A few people have you beaten out on that position." She glanced around, feeling oddly bare without a notepad or a suitcase to take with her. There was no need; everything she needed was still in Millie's room. Namely, Millie.

"Is Millie okay?" Heavens, why hadn't that been the first thing out of her mouth-

He began to nod, then stopped himself, and pulled out the familiar, tiny grey computer from its pouch on his belt. He tapped a stylus against the monitor a few times, and a few clicks were heard.

"She's stable," he confirmed, then turned the screen so she could see it. Grudgingly, she came closer, and was surprised to see a moving square about three-quarters of the size of the entire display, an over-the-bed view of Millie. A white-coated technician was fussing by the bedside, and while the resolution wasn't great, she could make out what looked like wires stretching to small, white circles on Millie's forehead and temples.

"It looks like they're still running tests," he added unnecessarily.

"Is that . . . happening right now?"

He nodded. "This is real-time," he agreed, then smiled again. "Forgive me. I forget that this technology seems foreign to civilians."

She could have interpreted it as a slam on her intelligence, but thought better of it. This was probably actually a ploy to suck up to her in an effort to get her assistance with their plans. Why else would the commander's personal assistant get Meryl babysitting duty?

There was no doubt that was what it was. She'd tried briefly to leave her room about thirty minutes after she'd been locked inside, only to find that not only was it locked, but when she started trying to tinker with the odd, flat metallic panel beside the door, it opened to reveal a very polite guard who asked her in no uncertain terms to stop.

She wondered, a little cattily, if Elizabeth was being restricted as much as she was.

Probably not.

He was watching her, and she wondered how much her expression had changed as he withdrew the computer. "We're – none of us – uh, look. I'm bad at this. I'm . . . I'm sorry Ms. Thompson got hurt. We all are."

She just nodded, not meeting his eyes, and he used the silence to tuck the computer back into its holster. "I understand you'll be wanting to head back to the med bay now?"

"Yes." She remained where she was until he stepped back, out of the doorway, and then her mouth just started. She hated awkward silences. They always ended up being filled with something much worse.

"So why did you get stuck with me? Does your commander need something else?"

He began to walk beside her as she turned left, now more than familiar with the layout between her quarters and the infirmary. There weren't too many places between the two for her to get lost, after all. Two stairwells, one major intersection, and she was there. A quick two-minute walk that showed her almost nothing of the ship, of the size of it and the number of people that moved about every day, performing their tasks.

As they had been when she'd last been here.

Terry had the good grace to stop smiling so widely. "Actually, I volunteered," he admitted. "It's not every day I get to walk down the hall with a legend. Well, one like yourself," he added hastily. "Not to say the commander isn't a legend, he's just . . . uh . . ." He trailed off, then scratched his head. "Oh boy," he finally concluded.

Any other day, Meryl might have found his behavior cute. Men didn't generally get shy around her, unless she was pointing a gun at them or barging into an office on official business.

But this was not any other day. This was yet another day of being a prisoner on a ship full of people that probably had actual memories of Earth and had still, stupidly and closemindedly done something so horrible-

"I don't get it," she started, noting the anger in her voice and forcing it away. She missed the numbness she'd had before, the exhaustion. Now all she had for company was an aching face and a growing indignation. And taking it out on the commander's assistant wasn't going to help anyone, least of all her. The last thing she needed to do was risk her 'privilege' of being able to visit Millie.

"Why am I such a legend? For writing a few reports?" For telling them exactly how to bring down Vash the Stampede? Her stomach iced with the thought that something in her reports had made their job easier.

She liked to think he put up a fight. Tried to defend his promise and save humanity.

The young man beside her cleared his throat. "You're a twenty-something, uh, petite woman who volunteered to track down and follow the most dangerous thing on the planet. You did it for years, even seeing with your own eyes what it could do-"

"It," she grated through clenched teeth, stopping dead in her tracks, "is a he. He is a person, like you or me, and what you've done is just as unacceptable as if you'd done it to me."

The private held up a hand. "I don't disagree with you," he said in a hushed tone, glancing up the hall. "But you have to understand – look. You . . . you have had personal interaction, for years, with a walking, talking Plant. Possibly one of the only people in history that has done so."

He indicated with an outstretched arm that they should continue walking, and Meryl didn't budge.

He grimaced, and clasped his hands in front of him placatingly. "You just asked me why you're considered such a legend, and I'm telling you. Whether you want to be or not, you're famous. You partially documented 'a day in the life of' a humanoid Plant. One that interacted with humans, like a human. You got to watch that interaction. Do you understand now?"

She just stared at him, not paying the few wide-eyed passersby any attention. "Why would that matter?" she asked bluntly. "No one here seems to care that Vash is as human if not more so than anyone else on the ship!"

He shook his head. "Not when either of the known Plants could wipe out half the planet without trying, no," he agreed, and again gestured that they should walk. This time she did.

"The commander designed the plan he did to protect the civilians. We all agreed to be put at that risk in their stead, so naturally tension is high currently. A lot of good men died."

She bit back her retort and continued walking. That was true. She'd been sitting in that room with him, watching dots blink out.

"When everything settles, there will be interest in the humanoid Plants as . . . well, as humanoid," he continued. "Just not yet. Not until Knives is in a bulb, and the twin has stabilized."

So Vash wasn't okay.

"So currently my celebrity status is as a spy for the humans." It made her feel fouler than she had before she'd taken a shower.

He winced, but didn't contradict her, and she resisted the urge to grind her teeth.

"Trust me," he said softly, "when I tell you that what happened to – to Vash the Stampede is by far the most merciful any enemy has ever been treated by the commander."

Meryl ducked down the narrow flight of stairs, listening to the softer clattering of Terry behind her. Merciful! How could be being put into a torture device be considered merciful?

"And on that note," he continued in a low voice, "I would continue to stay out of his way, if I were you."

So that was why he'd been elected to escort her to the infirmary. To pass on the commander's wish that she stop being a pain in his ass.

There was nothing to say to that, so she didn't. She continued down the next flight of stairs. Once they reached the landing, she heard the younger man sigh.

"Like I said, I'm bad at this."

She appreciated the honesty, but she wasn't too interested in making him feel better about it.

"So tell me about this commander of yours, if torturing people is his idea of merciful."

Terry smiled a little. "Well, he's the only officer on board that saw combat on Earth."

Meryl digested that for a moment. That was impossible; he didn't look much over his mid-fifties. The last major war on Earth had ended at least thirty years before the SEEDs project, so . . .

"He was included in the SEEDs project on the off chance we ended up on a planet with a population of its own, or there was a world-encompassing military-related disaster." Terry didn't seem to notice her confusion. "Naturally, the discovery of two conscious Plants capable of wiping out one of the major settlements without blinking an eye was concluded to be a world-encompassing disaster, so he was woken about seven months ago."

Cold-sleep. He'd been in cold-sleep the entire time. He'd been aware and living on Gunsmoke for the equivalent of seven months. And she recalled from her earlier conversation with Bryan that most of the crew had been in cold-sleep themselves until about two years ago, when they'd come parading through . . .

"The commander likes efficiency." Terry said it as though trying hard to communicate it wasn't a negative thing. "I think we can both agree this was not the most efficient way to deal with the problem of the Plants."

"The problem of the Plants," she echoed, shaking her head. "If you'd left them alone there wouldn't have been a problem."

"If we'd killed them, there wouldn't have been one either," he pointed out.

"You are killing them," she retorted. "We all know what happens in plants. Sooner or later there'll be a Last Run, and I have yet to see a Plant that survived that!"

He sighed again. "I don't know why I try," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I'm trying to point out that usually the science angle wouldn't have been enough to make the commander go through this elaborate and expensive plan to capture them alive."

"So what?" They were only a few dozen yarz from the infirmary now, and she had never been so glad to see it. Silence would have been better than this.

He shook his head slightly. "You asked me to tell you about the commander. That's what I'm doing."

Meryl stopped her next snap, but only after she'd opened her mouth. She had, hadn't she. "Oh," she managed lamely. "Well, thanks then."

They continued the next few yarz in silence, then Terry put a hand on her arm, stopping them. There was no one in the hallway besides them, no real reason to stop. She started to jerk her arm away when his grip tightened.

He tried a smile, though this one was forced. "I'm a coward," he growled under his breath, before meeting her eyes squarely. "Let me try this another way. Commander Gray is dangerous. He will kill you and your entire party if you prove to be more trouble than you're worth. You have some advantages – you're an in with Bernardelli without us having to go public. Miss Boulaise is a way to get our engineers quietly involved in the Plant restoration projects as well. But you're not necessary. Do you understand?"

She stared at him, noting for the first time that his eyes were hazel. She'd never really looked at him, considered him as anything more than a lackey.

Which is what he is, her brain cautioned her. All he's doing is trying to scare you.

"Why? Why tell me this?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because you're Meryl Stryfe, you idiot," he murmured. "You don't sit quietly. You act on what you believe in, and you've very stupidly made it plain to everyone that you believe Vash the Stampede should be released."

She would have chafed at the insults if she weren't as stunned by the words that followed it.

"You don't know me-"

"You're wrong. Who do you think summarized all those reports?" He glanced up and down the hall, then at his hand, still holding her arm. "I was here, when you first came. I still have the footage, every clip of video we could get on you four. Most of our Prime BEEF carries a picture of you in their wallets. And Ms. Thompson," he added, "since she did cause 'em to take out almost the entire section of that hallway to repair the hole she punched through it."

She stared at him, and he shook his head. "Look, it doesn't matter. Just . . . just don't do anything stupid, okay? You – just, for once, please consider doing what the commander asks you to. For their sake."

Their sake. Not just Elizabeth's, but Millie and Aaron and Sunjy's.

She hadn't seen them since they were separated for 'interviews.'

Meryl shifted slightly away from Terry, and he released her arm as though it had shocked him. "So, I just thought you should know," he said lamely.

She nodded. "Where are Aaron and Sunjy – Elizabeth's bodyguards. Are they okay?"

He frowned at her. "They're fine. Ms. Boulaise has had them released on her authority, and they're assisting her with the logistical end of things."

So the commander hadn't had them killed, at any rate.

It was just hard to believe that the man that had leaned across the table from her, asking her to sign the disclosure agreement, would be as evil as all that –

But his expression, when Knives had been hurting Millie –

But he was a military leader. They couldn't have sent anyone in, they would have been incapacitated and besides, some of the gas would have gotten out. It was most important at that point to stop Knives.

And, following that logic, it would be most important to keep Vash and Knives locked up, even if a short black-haired woman thought differently.

"I should go and see Millie-"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you-"

"No, I . . . thanks. For the warning."

He nodded, and started walking again.

She wondered if he had a picture of her in his wallet, too. The idea that there was an entire corps of engineers walking around with Millie's face, to remind them of who caused them probably weeks' worth of work for one little hole –

Meryl hurried after Terry, biting her bottom lip. "Can – can I ask you for a favor?"

- . -

Samuel handed her a printout, but she barely glanced at it. She'd been observing this 'Doc' for some time, and there was much to be said for his penchant of looking at the patient instead of the machine.

She didn't need the computers to tell her the cocktail of drugs weren't having the effect she wanted, after all. One glance at the struggling Plant was enough.

Erratic pulse, uncontrollable fever, respiratory distress. Obvious rejection of the inhibitors. That could be one of many problems, anything from its system building up an immunity to the chemical bonding to its body returning to what Dr. Greer called 'the natural form.'

Not that she agreed with the crackpot, but unfortunately, G-101A was still emitting significant amounts of energy at unpredictable intervals. Most bursts were only a second or two in duration, and none of them dangerous enough to damage the room. Just the more sensitive equipment and the humans that happened to be in the room at the time. And a few seconds' exposure at those levels would hardly be terminal.

'Doc' was well aware of it and didn't seem to mind, after all.

Then again, he'd lived out his days. He'd exhausted most of his research into bio-engineering and he had an emotional attachment to the Plant. She was counting on his sentimentalism to keep him playing ball until the Plant either died or stabilized.

Not that her research was going much better. She'd taken any number of tissue samples from the ailing Plant, all interesting but none pointing her in the direction of the normally spawned Plant. Most non-humanoid Plants bore a specific genetic marker identifying offspring to parent, much like all hybrid clone DNA. G-101A's mappings didn't reflect what they had on record for any of the Plants aboard the primary SEEDs ship. It was unique, which made it more mammalian.

Slightly more disturbing, the Plant did indeed have testes, which were indeed producing sperm. While A-20034 had ovaries, of a sort, that also produced what they could assume were egg cells, scientists on Earth had tried years before the project to combine them successfully with various engineered sperm cells and failed.

The next obvious test, of course, was to see if this Plant's sperm could successfully fertilize another Plant's egg cells, but she'd yet to combine them. That was an experiment for another time, fraught with problems such as, if the fertilization was successful, where to put the embryo? None of the Plants had had the equivalent of a uterus, as they often developed limbs or wings from tiny sacs beneath the skin rather than a central spawning location.

And Cherubs were not spawned from other Plants, but from the central Plant. Implanting a fertilized cell into the skin of a Plant and expecting a successful pregnancy was ludicrous.

Just the sort of thing 'Doc' would suggest.

Perhaps what irritated her most about him was the fact that she didn't know his name. She glanced up at the monitor, surprised to see the surface of the black stool rather than a hunched back. The Plant looked the same, unaware of the man's absence, and she thinned her lips.

Where was he?

Her main office held an examination bed, her most used equipment, and a small computer bank. She had only six monitors, and currently four of them were programmed with video feed from various rooms. Obviously the twin Plants were on the primary screens, and the color monitors showed that both of those observation rooms were empty of humans. Within G-101B's room, there was no need. That Plant was responding optimally to chemical therapy and soon Dr. Greer would be commandeering the treatment to begin installation.

There was no one in G-101A's room because she had wanted to respect Doc's privacy, but if he was going to wander off without so much as notifying her –

An irritated peek at Millie Thompson's room revealed him, however, and she frowned. More interest in the vegetable? It was a damned shame, but not even surgery would improve her symptoms. She would regain consciousness, probably in the next hour or so, and they'd get a baseline of the damage. Best case would be clumsy blundering and unintelligible chatter. As soon as the woman began moving in earnest, some of that clotted blood would be forced into the main blood vessels of her brain, and her condition would rapidly deteriorate into a series of small strokes, culminating in respiratory paralysis and death.

A day, a week, a year. It wouldn't make any difference. There was nothing they, for all their technology, could do for that kind of trauma. What made it curious was that it was the first time she'd seen that sort of damage without the secondary injuries to the tissues of the brain. Most trauma came from the surface downward, not the other way around.

Motion on that monitor sharpened her gaze, and she watched Private Asoaurd escort Meryl Stryfe back into the room. She adjusted her glasses and sighed. Someone needed to break the bad news to her, at any rate, and she doubted it would be 'Doc.'

Then again . . . they did have a prior relationship, didn't they? Hadn't the woman negotiated an insurance contract or something . . .? Perhaps their love of Plant G-101A facilitated the feelings of a bond.

Curiosity got the better of her, and Dr. Shrew touched the audio button beneath the monitor.

"Meryl Stryfe," Doc greeted, and the diminutive woman gave him a brief hug. Yes, definitely a prior relationship.

"Doc," she responded, and released him promptly. "How is she?"

The two shapes proceeded towards the bed, where Millie Thompson lay. Her readings were scrolling on the very bottom of the monitor, and her eyes glanced over them quickly. Just on the cusp of consciousness. It wouldn't be long. He didn't have much time to give the girl fair warning.

"I'm afraid I don't have good news."

He also, apparently, cut right to the chase. She'd seen little of his bedside manner, and propped her chin on her hands. As always, observing him was educational.

The small woman's shoulders were slightly hunched upwards, a sign of her anxiety, but it was the only one. Her voice was very steady when she responded to him.

"I know. Just tell me."

He chose to stand beside her, and just behind, watching the tall girl as he spoke. "Ms. Thompson will regain consciousness, but she won't be herself."

That was an understatement.

"The damage done by Knives will affect her motor skills, to some extent. You may observe twitching, strange gestures, or a difficulty or harshness in speaking."

The black-haired woman didn't move. "Will she understand us?"

The shape of Doc sighed. "That's difficult to say," he admitted. "I think so."

Meryl stroked Ms. Thompson's arm through the blankets. "I think so too."

Samuel moved behind her, and Dr. Shrew glanced his way, still keeping an ear cocked to the screen. Doc began to explain the mindless babbling Thompson would probably lapse into.

"What?" Dr. Shrew asked sharply, when her technician failed to speak.

"The readings on G-101A are a bit abnormal –"

She refocused on the Plant. Due to the uncontrollable spasms, the Plant had been secured to the flat, padded table, but it had not been so tightly bound it could not move at all. Occasionally its head would turn slightly, but it was difficult to tell if this indicated a growing awareness or not. As with Thompson, the primary stats displayed on a bar along the bottom of the screen, and she noted the change in energy output. A littler lower-key, but surprisingly consistent. Not alarming, at least not yet, but definitely a new symptom. She'd been lowering the inhibiting dose, in the hopes it would have a change on the obvious internal issues the Plant was suffering from, so perhaps this would tell her if she was on the right track.

"Ms. Stryfe?"

Dr. Shrew looked back towards Thompson's room, in time to see the diminutive woman say, "Call me Meryl."

Maybe not so much of a history after all.

"I assume you'll want to stay by her side throughout the rest of your time here as a soldier in the commander's war."

Ah, pushing his agenda. Hoping to find a confederate in her? She toyed with recording the conversation, but something stayed her hand. The two of them could do little to change their situation, after all, and there was no need to bring such a trifling, expected sort of conversation to the commander's attention.

Behind her, she heard Sam shift again, and she shook her head. "Thank you. I'll monitor the patient from here."

He left her office almost silently, and she wondered how often her assistants used their starched, rustling coats to announce themselves instead of a gentle throat-clearing.

"If she starts repeating the same sound over and over again, there's a good chance of a stroke due to the clots in her brain dislodging and cutting off circulation to other parts," Doc was continuing his lecture. She felt an eyebrow crawl towards her hairline. That was surprisingly blunt. Stryfe wasn't an idiot. He'd all but told her that her friend wasn't going to live very long.

He continued, something about Thompson being able to process simple commands, but she ignored them, looking again towards the Plants. The energy reading she was seeing seemed to be steady, and that was a problem.

Steady output meant she needed to up the inhibitors again. Upping the inhibitors again meant further damage to its internal systems as the partially altered internal organs fought with its more humanoid physiology. She was almost certain that was the reason for its distress, but again, until they stopped the energy purge there would be no way to be certain, and certainly no treatment.

G-101A was not going to withstand much more hesitation on her part.

Dr. Shrew withdrew her PDA, then thought better of it, and stood. Doc was still describing warning signs, and Stryfe was still paying him close attention. With a shake of her head, she withdrew from her office, walking briskly down the hall, up the eight stairs to the observation deck.

It was a raised chamber of sorts that offered a mid-room view of the two Plant theaters. It hadn't been built for the Plants, of course; its primary purpose had been to allow the overlooking of more doctors during the performance of a critical or complex medical procedure. The room had been altered, however, about a month before the capture of G-101A. The glass had been doubled with bulb polymer and the walls pressure-filled with reactor insulation.

She was hoping that precaution would ultimately prove totally unnecessary. Since G-101A was sedated and in such bad condition, it was impossible for the Plant to emit a serious enough burst of energy to compromise the room, but she'd really rather not give it the opportunity.

Samuel and Candice were in the observation deck, gathering the data they'd probably use to write their dissertations. They both nodded respectfully, and she ignored them, striding purposefully over to the main console and seating herself with a sigh. There were more monitors here, and better scanning equipment. The Plant's blood gases were completely out of whack, which might explain the respiratory issues. The Plant was averaging at over a hundred breaths per minute, despite the oxygen line run to it.

That rate would quickly exhaust the average human, and this Plant had been keeping it up steadily for nearly an hour now. She knew it was distressing Doc, but outside of continuing to feed the Plant oxygen there was little they could do to combat it. Its throat and chest sounded clear. It was the Plant's lungs that were causing the trouble, and without the aid of her scanning equipment, which the energy fluctuations would permanently damage, or exploratory surgery, which would kill the Plant outright, there was no way to treat.

Her one and only chance to study humanoid Plants close-up was quickly coming to a close. Perhaps if they'd done a better job with the drug manipulations, or she hadn't allowed Dr. Greer such leeway during the installation . . . She glanced at the readings again, noting a parallel increase in brain activity. Of course, with the inhibitors slowly leaving its system up to this point, total chemical sedation was relaxing.

She located the appropriate monitor, in this case number seven, and flicked the intercom button on Thompson's monitor. "Return to the observation deck," she said clearly, then flicked it off again before remembering that Doc wasn't one of her assistants.

Oh well. He'd just chalk it up to her demeanor. Even if she treated him with respect she received the same lack of it in return.

Then she turned to the keyboard, entering her password and sending a command to the mechanical pump in the room. A 10 cc dose of inhibitor probably wouldn't have too significant an impact, given the Plant's waning reaction to the chemical, but it might be enough to disrupt that consistent energy release.

She watched the electric meters on the pump. It wasn't the same as walking into the Plant's room and administering it in person, but there was no reason to put anyone in that much danger. The current system meant they could administer stimulants, sedatives, inhibitors, or painkillers with the tap of a stylus, from anywhere in the ship. Also, the pump itself was pneumonic, almost completely mechanical. Even if the Plant knocked out wireless communication, they could still use this terminal, which was hard-wired through the floors to the equipment.

The machine worked flawlessly, releasing the correct dosage down one of the two IV lines that had been run into the Plant before continuing with its saline drip. Hydration had a direct correlation to the health of a Plant outside of the bulb, and this one was still dehydrated. The readings didn't change significantly, but she'd indicated a very low dose.

The energy output remained steady. Low enough not to be a threat, but steady for the first time since extraction. Respiration remained distressed, and total brain activity neither dipped nor spiked.

She also noticed, with no small trace of irritation, that rather than coming to her, the man had gone directly to the Plant.

Of course. Why look at a monitor when you could observe the patient with your eyes?

She growled, grabbing her PDA and heading out the door. She half-jogged down the short stairway, hanging a left and waiting impatiently for the doors to admit her. The energy levels weren't dangerous enough to warrant caution, yet.

Lucky for that idiot.

"I see you follow directions quite well," she murmured acidly as she walked up to him. He was inspecting the Plant quite closely, as though the pores of its skin might hold some mystery.

"You gave him more inhibitors, didn't you."

She blinked at the accusatory tone, but showed him her PDA. "Yes. As this is not a bulb environment, I thought it prudent to prevent energy release."

He looked over the data, for once, and uncharacteristically growled under his breath.

"When did that start?"

"About three minutes ago. The inhibitors we applied will be sufficient to prevent large scale energy release-"

"That's not the problem," he said, in an oddly quiet voice, and turned back to the Plant. He pulled down an eyelid, and his shoulders squared. "You need to leave the room, doctor."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Dr. Shrew almost jumped when he whirled to face her, one hand wrapped around her wrist. She barely kept hold of the PDA, and he began to propel her backwards. "Now would be better than later," he said briskly.

She managed to stop her backwards momentum after a moment, and she heard the doors slide open behind her. Her assistants would likely have seen this, and of course it meant they'd call security, he'd just further restricted his own movements-

"What-"

"You need to leave. It's not safe."

His somber expression started to worry her, but it was still no excuse to manhandle her. Dr. Shrew yanked hard against him, but he didn't release her wrist.

"Let go of me! How dare you-"

"It's a steady output because he's coming around," Doc murmured, still in a very calm voice. A voice one might use around children. "Now get out, and seal the doors. Please."

She was about to question his diagnosis when the Plant articulated something. It wasn't intelligible, but it was clearly more than the groans it had emitted in the past. If the Plant wasn't semi-conscious, it was well on its way. Curiously, it still sounded as though it had multiple sets of vocal chords, the sound was much like those of recorded Plant songs.

She was right. Despite its outward appearance, the Plant was still very much less than humanoid.

Doc left her at the door, turning back for the Plant, and she was about to follow him when the quarantine alarm began to sound.

They'd designed the rooms to flood with gas, for just such a situation as this. Once a certain number of sensors lost contact with the main security system, as they would do in the presence of certain energy levels, the protocol would go into effect. The gas was not intended to sedate, but to kill. The infirmary was rather central to the ship, and should a serious breach occur, possible peripheral damage could be devastating.

They had ten seconds before the doors sealed them in.

Ten seconds before they died with the Plant.

Dr. Shrew started forward and grabbed at Doc with her left hand. As she pulled him around, she could see past him, see the Plant's arm raise slightly.

Testing its bonds.

Oh, god. He was right.

"We have eight seconds." She didn't bother keeping her voice gentle, and his was quite firm when he replied.

"Then stop this. He's not a threat to the ship." He seemed to fall back, freeing himself from her grasp easily.

Wirelessly stopping the quarantine was doable, but in the room at least, was out of the question. He'd just demonstrated that he was physically stronger than she was, so pulling him out of the room was also out of the question. She hesitated before dashing outside, pressing her back to the theater wall. The insulation protected her PDA from the energy, and she watched the screen flash as the device rebooted.

Four seconds.

It came back up as quickly as it always did, thankfully directly to the alert. She entered her four digit pin with zero seconds to spare, waiting for the overhead claxon to stop before daring to look back inside.

The alarms indicating dangerous energy levels were still ringing with their high-pitched clink, but unfortunately they didn't give her any idea of the levels themselves. As soon as she approached the open doors her PDA began to show only static, and she tossed it aside in disgust before walking back into the theater.

She had stopped the quarantine. Neutralizing the Plant was now her responsibility, and hers alone.

The Plant was still on the table, still restrained. Doc was leaning over it, his hands on either side of the Plant's face. Forcing it to look at him. Were its eyes open?

"Vash, stop,"

She hurried around him, to the drawers built into the table. Motion caught her attention, from the observation window, and she ignored their frantic waving. Radiation poisoning, even Plant-generated, was not untreatable if the dosage was low enough. And she had a clear view of the Plant from her vantage – it wasn't even glowing.

It was slicked with sweat, shaking its head weakly against the smaller man's hands. She clearly heard the sound of popping nylon thread, which she guessed was the restraint around its intact arm. If it was strong enough to break the canvas -

"Get G-101B out of here!" she shouted at the glass, knowing the four-man security detail Sam had undoubtedly already summoned would obey him. The other Plant was in a coma, after all. Despite being the more dangerous personality, right now it was the least of their concerns. There was no choice with this one, but at least she could save the other.

The Plant cried out again, shaking its head more vigorously, but Doc hung on grimly. "Stop, Vash," he begged. "Look at me-"

It clearly wasn't positively reacting to Doc. Either it was too dazed to recognize him or it simply didn't care.

She pulled the mechanical pump to her, checking the label twice before punching the release valve on the arixtor. A full fifty cc's remained in the cylinder, and it drained into the Plant without incident.

That was the last of the inhibitors. Everything else they'd prestocked into the pump was a stimulant, a painkiller, or a sedative. She hesitated only a moment more before she hit the valve on the sitosterin as well.

"Vash, can you hear me?"

She could see that its eyes were open, but they were heavily glazed, and white around the edges. The Plant's expression was frightened, there was no real coordination to its movements. Only semi-conscious. Nothing like it had been when they'd first began inhibitor testing -

The sound of tearing cloth was her only warning before Doc was almost launched over the table. She jumped back, horrified to see a flash of white feathers rather than bandages as it tore its arm free. The Plant cried out again, as though in pain, and reached elongated fingers to grab the falling Doc's right wrist.

It jerked him to a halt, and Doc didn't try to pull away, now half-seated on the table with the Plant. He returned his left hand to the Plant's face, gently, and stifled a cough.

"Look at me."

The fingers coiled around his wrist, tightening until she could hear the bones creak. Neither the arixtor nor the sitosterin seemed to be having any effect.

Dr. Shrew remained frozen, worried that any motion from her would further endanger the man, but after a moment it became apparent that the Plant was at least reacting intelligently. It was struggling less, and seemed to be actually looking at Doc.

"It's okay, Vash." He said it reassuringly, it wasn't a croon but it would have put the most anxious person almost immediately at ease. Given the pain he was in, it was nothing short of remarkable. "You're going to be fine. Go back to sleep."

He was doing an admirable job of distracting the Plant from her. She eyed it only a second more before she eased forward, ducking beneath its line of sight and softly pulling open the lowermost drawers of the table.

She quickly located the cylinder of lupetin and a wide-bore syringe, and drew twenty cc's, more than twice the necessary dose. Their exposure to the energy was accruing with every second the Plant remained conscious, and while she didn't yet feel light-headed, she knew it was only a matter of time. The alarm lights were still flashing, indicating radiation levels hadn't dropped despite the inhibitors, and the milder sedatives didn't seem to be weakening the Plant at all.

She didn't even have to stand to locate one of the IV lines, and she slipped the needle through the polymer. Stronger sedatives on top of what she'd just given the Plant were ill-advised. The dose might actually euthanize the Plant. She administered it anyway.

Then she straightened.

The effect of the lupetin was immediate. The Plant's still-elevated respiration dropped startlingly in the middle of a gasp, like water pressure when you turned off the hosepipe. Its mouth widened in such a classic Plant expression she might have thought it was continuing to return to that form, and it made a low, desperate sound.

The accompanying, slight convulsions began immediately, and she leaned forward, trying to catch the Plant's hand in an attempt to free Doc. He pushed her aside with his other arm, roughly, and his voice was tight.

"Don't touch him!"

She stumbled backwards, tripping over the mechanical pump, and by the time she caught herself, it was over.

The first thing she noticed was the silence. The alarms had stopped. Doc was gasping, still in the grasp of the limp Plant. Its eyes were slightly open, and seemed to flick sluggishly before they fell closed. A dark stream of urine trickled from the end of the table to spatter against the theater floor.

She sighed deeply, fighting the impression that she'd been holding her breath the entire time. Doc swallowed loudly, turned to her, and grimaced.

"Thank you," he said, as lightly as he could, before half-collapsing against the slumbering Plant.

She let her tart response go, hurrying back to the table. The Plant still had the other doctor's right wrist firmly in grasp, and as she moved to peel off the slender fingers, she saw the blisters.

His entire arm was burned from fingertips to elbow, and the sleeve of his jacket was partially blackened.

It wasn't her first burn, so the sudden acrid stench and the sight of the fast-forming lesions didn't surprise her. There were documented cases of Plant technicians not following safety protocols and being burned by a production Plant, and being successfully treated.

Still, his arm was probably long past skin grafts.

And that was just his arm. The rest of him had been exposed to that energy, to a lesser extent.

And so had she.

She continued to extricate the quietly moaning Doc from the Plant, glancing at the door as it hissed open. Three wide-eyed doctors and two gurneys were staring back.

"Get an operating theater prepped," she ordered, and was slightly gratified to see one of them – Candice, it looked like – scurry off. Sam was missing, which meant he'd obeyed her command to move Knives. She'd need to be checked herself for lesions, but it looked as though only the skin he'd had in direct contact with the Plant was badly damaged.

What a nightmare.

The Plant's fingers stuck wetly to Doc's skin, and once she was able to completely free him she moved to the other side of the table. By then the other two had entered, and took him gently from her.

"Doctor . . . our readings spiked at point five."

Wonderful. Not a lethal dose, but darn close to damaging. She nodded absently, checking the Plant's vitals the old-fashioned way. Weak pulse, but slightly less erratic. Relaxed respiration.

And it wasn't in a coma.

She stared at the Plant a moment before following the gurney out of the room. Assuming it was still in that condition when she was finished researching burn treatments, it might just be stable.

- . -

**Author's Note**: Not much to say, actually, other than this being the sequel to Compromise, all rules stated in that story for telepathic communication stand. Anything that seemed unclear in the beginning will be made quite clear probably in the next few chapters or so. As always, if you spot something wonky, please let me know! I had to stop this chapter right about in the middle, so the question of Millie will be answered in the next chapter, which is really the end of this one. It was just getting out of hand.

Thank you guys for reading this far. I really didn't intend this to be so long, or so complicated, but . . . well, Vash. And Knives! You understand.

For inkydoo – Good catch! Telepathic manifestations, such as Vash in his own mind, can bleed freely without a problem, unless that blood – or anything else – ends up falling outside of a mental construct. Vash appeared to be permanently losing power because his construct was falling apart and he was actually bleeding out into nothing. (Even though in his case, that nothing was also part of his construct.) The fact that he was covered in head to toe with his own blood in the previous chapter doesn't mean permanent damage, but did symbolize the energy bleed that was happening to him in reality.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Meant to be a continuation of the previous chapter, not a standalone chapter in itself.

- . -

She was still wearing a little smile when she walked up to the doors, waiting expectantly as they sensed her and opened. Being a woman, she was not unaccustomed to doors opening for her, but it didn't happen all that often, and it was nice that she didn't feel as though she was putting someone out.

The room looked pretty much as it had when she left it, with two major exceptions. There was more equipment, and there was a rather short, older man sitting on the chair she had vacated about eight hours ago.

His expression was neutral as he turned, but it immediately perked up into a smile as he recognized her, and he jumped to his feet very spryly for someone that had to be . . . old. Very old indeed.

"Meryl Stryfe," Doc greeted, and she stepped into the room and gave him a brief hug. He returned it as though it happened all the time, and she felt herself relax a little into the gesture.

"Doc," she replied, a little unsure of what else to say. She wasn't sure what his full name was, although she could and probably should have dug up the contract papers, considering she'd made him sign them and she was sure he hadn't just signed them 'Doc.' She found she was still hugging him, and promptly released him, turning slightly red.

"How is she?" The words came out of her mouth before her brain contemplated what the two new items in the room might mean in relation to Millie. Doc's eyes crinkled slightly in the corners, and she felt her smile slide right off her face.

So not good.

He didn't answer at first, and she stepped around him, deciding to leave him the chair and sitting herself primly on the edge of the mattress. Millie still looked like a baby doll in a small child's bed, and her brow furrowed as Meryl watched.

She stared at Millie a second, but the furrow didn't vanish, and she turned quickly to find Doc had stepped up directly behind her. Any hope that this was a good sign sank at his somber expression.

"I'm afraid I don't have good news."

When she'd met him on the ship he'd been just as direct regarding his needs as far as insurance was concerned. After he'd finished laying out the contract, he'd barked a laugh at her stunned face.

"I'm afraid I don't mince words, young lady," he'd confided with a wink. "When you get to be my age, there's neither time nor inclination."

Obviously he hadn't changed his perspective in their time apart.

When she turned to more fully look over her shoulder, she noted she was carrying her shoulders high, hunched and tense. It was an effort to relax them, and she took the time to do so before she said anything.

"I know." Brain damage didn't just go away. Even she knew that. "Just tell me."

He pursed his wide lips together thoughtfully, as though choosing his words carefully. She prepared herself for the worst. Millie won't wake up. Millie won't make it through the night.

"Ms. Thompson will regain consciousness, but she won't be herself."

It neither sounded nor looked like he was finished, so she remained silent, and merely held his gaze unwaveringly. She needed the details, if she was going to be able to help Millie. She needed the details for herself. To know what Knives had done. To know what they could or couldn't have done to prevent or lessen the damage, and what they could do about it now.

He nodded slightly to her, as though acknowledging her mental readying. "The damage done by Knives will affect her motor skills, to some extent. You may observe twitching, strange gestures, or a difficulty or harshness in speaking."

Among the many Bernadelli contracts she'd investigated over her few short years, she'd come across other people who had been injured. The most horrific had been a well-drilling accident, when the support scaffolding had collapsed back on the well tunnel, bringing some of the reinforcing stones down as well on the workers. Three young men, all brothers, had been at the bottom of the shaft, and only one of them survived. His name had been Craig, and the left side of his skull, just above his ear, had been crushed.

He'd been released from the local hospital by the time she'd made it to Casal, and staying with his family. She'd been interviewing his mother about the accident, attempting to determine if negligence by the foreman was to blame, when a sound had interrupted them. It was a sound she could never imitate, she'd never heard its like. It had been Craig, trying to tell them something. Only he couldn't, because he couldn't form his lips to the words, couldn't force his tongue or throat to do any of the many subtle movements that made up language.

When she couldn't figure out what he wanted, both of them started to cry.

That will never happen to us, Millie. I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out together.

Of course, that depended on how much Millie would know. Craig seemed to understand what had happened to him, seemed to be overwhelmingly frustrated. But Knives hadn't hit Millie, hadn't used a rock. There was no way to know if the damage would be the same.

"Will she understand us?"

Doc sighed, and lowered himself to the edge of the chair to her right. "That's difficult to say," he admitted. "I think so."

Meryl turned back to Millie. During the tests they'd tucked her arm back under the blankets, but she reached out and stroked it anyway. Millie's brow was still furrowed, and occasionally her eyes would crawl beneath her lids. "I think so too," Meryl said softly.

Doc didn't say anything for a time, and eventually she looked back at him. His body language remained very dejected, but his gaze was very sharp, almost angry looking. When he realized that he had her attention, he sharpened it further. But his voice was exactly the same as it had been before, dry and slightly sympathetic.

"If she does speak, she may say things that don't make sense. She may also insist on going places for no apparent reason. Do not be alarmed by this behavior, and whatever you do, do not attempt to physically restrain her if you don't feel she's in danger. She's a very strong young woman, and she may not realize that she's using too much force."

Meryl stared at him. Clearly he was trying to tell her something, something very important, without giving it away to the overhead camera that had allowed her to watch Millie's tests. She carefully didn't respond, turning back to Millie to hide her confusion.

Millie might babble, might walk over a balcony without thinking. What was he trying to tell her . . .? What about that information would be something he wouldn't want Dr. Shrew or her technicians to hear?

What could Millie possibly have to say that they wouldn't want communicated to the crew of this ship?

"Ms. Stryfe?"

She glanced back over her shoulder, throwing him a small smile. "Call me Meryl." They'd known each other long enough, after all.

"I assume you'll want to stay by her side throughout the rest of your time here as a soldier in the commander's war." His voice became more dry, and his expression was positively droll.

"Of course." It wasn't as if she had anywhere to go, and –

Doc winked, almost so quickly she missed it.

Stay with Millie. He wanted her to stick to that girl like sand fleas.

"I was hoping you'd say that." He stood, placing his hand gently on her shoulder, and gave her a gentle, supportive squeeze. His eyes were still commanding her attention, and she willingly surrendered it.

"I just wanted to make sure you understood the difference between signs and symptoms that will be normal for her condition, and those that you should report to Dr. Shrew or Samuel, the nurse that will be caring for her."

Meryl just nodded, waiting for him to continue. It was getting harder to tell what information was supposed to have a double meaning and what information was meant to assist her in caring for Millie.

He continued, leaving his hand on her shoulder. "If she starts repeating the same sound over and over again, there's a good chance of a stroke due to the clots in her brain dislodging and cutting off circulation to other parts."

Stroke. Part of the brain dying from lack of oxygen. He was telling her that Millie was going to get worse, not better.

"It's imperative that you notify someone immediately," he continued, and squeezed her shoulder again. "Another sign would be half of her face seeming to sag, or sudden coordination problems on one side of her body."

Meryl nodded silently.

"Patients in this condition will sometimes babble, it may even sound as though she's reminiscing about something, or intelligently responding to conversation." His eyes narrowed considerably, but his voice remained neutral. "This is normal, and nothing to be worried about."

He was afraid that Millie was going to say something . . . about Knives? Was there something about the time she must have spent with Knives that they should keep hidden? Meryl considered her next phrase carefully, and nodded slowly to let him know that she'd understood at least that part.

"So if she tells me the sky is falling –"

He smiled slightly. "Normal. Nothing to bother our captors with."

She turned back towards Millie as she felt the bed twitch, and the taller girl sighed in her sleep.

"Ms. Thompson may decide to go to a particular place or commence a particular activity with no reason or instigation. Unless you think this will directly result in physical injury to her or someone else, do not attempt to stop her. She may understand simple commands, but if she ignores a simply phrased request to stop, just follow her and ensure that she does no harm. Usually periods of activity will range from thirty seconds to ten minutes."

He was putting gentle pressure on her shoulder. So that had a double meaning. If Millie wanted to do something, accompany and let her.

"She'll have a bit of trouble expressing herself. She may throw a temper tantrum, for instance, if you tell her no or take an object away. This is because she no longer has the capability of measuring how upset or happy something has made her, therefore she may have an extreme expression no matter how shallowly she feels the emotion. She may use language you've never heard come out of her mouth, offensive language. Please try to have patience."

Language you've never heard come out of her mouth. What was he trying so carefully to tell her?

There was a small crackle, as though the air had rubbed against itself, and Dr. Shrew's voice floated into the room.

"Return to the observation deck."

She sounded as she always did, slightly distracted and slightly irritated. Even knowing what she had done and was probably still doing to Vash, Meryl couldn't quite bring herself to hate the woman. She'd done the best she could for Millie, and she'd kept her word about notifying Meryl of changes.

It was apparent Doc didn't have the same problem she did. The man sighed, patted her shoulder once more, and turned for the doors.

"I'll check back with you in a little while," he said quietly. "Millie will wake up soon."

Meryl nodded, opened her mouth, and started to ask. But then she stopped herself. It sounded something like "Is heh."

She could hear Doc walking out of the room, and he didn't stop despite her nonsensical question. "He's fighting hard," the old man reassured her. "He always has."

She wanted to thank him for the cryptic answer, but the doors slid shut, and he was gone.

Dr. Shrew had called him away because of Vash. Terry had all but said he was unstable, which meant he was still in bad shape. What could they be doing to him that it would take him this long to recover? She'd seen him . . . she'd seen him take serious injuries and be trying to walk around five hours later. She'd seen him –

But she hadn't seen him after Augusta. All she knew was that a little girl and an old woman had taken care of him. Maybe this was like that. He just needed to be taken care of for a while. Maybe if they'd just stop meddling and let him rest, like –

Maybe they know better than you how to help him, Meryl, she snapped at her brain. It wasn't like Vash's unique problems were a mystery to Doc, after all. Even if Dr. Shrew was a complete lunatic, she could at least trust Doc to prevent them from killing Vash.

At least from doing it accidentally.

Millie sighed again, and Meryl moved a bit on the large bed so she was closer to the other girl, and a little more comfortable. She brushed a few oily strands of hair out of Millie's face, and watched her friend turn slightly into the gesture.

"Good morning," she said softly.

But Millie didn't open her eyes.

Meryl studied her friend closely. She didn't look much different. Her face was still as relaxed as it always was in sleep, save that worried little furrow. It was extremely uncharacteristic of her, usually she didn't worry about things until there was a reason to draw her gun or she realized she was about to be forced to witness something awful she knew she couldn't prevent. Usually in sleep and early wakefulness she was just cheerful and a little airheaded.

Was that what Doc had meant about being unable to express herself properly? What that an indication that she always worried in her sleep, and just had never shown it before?

What was she dreaming about?

Meryl ground her teeth as she thought about what she'd be dreaming about if the last thing she'd seen had been Knives' hate-filled eyes, felt the pain exploding in her head as he tried to squeeze her brain out her ears. Doubtlessly they would not be pleasant dreams. Still, she tossed out the idea of waking Millie.

It was almost impossible, for one, and whenever Meryl did it it usually scared the crap out of her. In the past, it had meant they were late, Vash had weaseled off somewhere again, or someone was taking over the sand steamer. She never purposefully woke Millie without a reason, and suspicion of nightmares wasn't a good enough reason.

She wasn't sure what she'd do if Millie really freaked out. Probably do the same.

Like Craig's mother.

"Millie Thompson, you're going to be the death of me," she told the girl softly. "You better not be having a nightmare."

Millie made a noise in the back of her throat.

Meryl leaned forward slightly. "Millie?"

A shrill, inhuman wail shattered the silence, and the room was abruptly bathed in red light. Meryl leapt into the air with a yelp, losing her seat and sliding off the edge of the bed. She landed in a heap beside it, jumping back to her feet as the wail faded and rose rhythmically, filling the room with sound.

An alarm, she realized. She'd heard ones like it before – in this ship. She'd heard it when she and Millie had been pounding down that hallway, trying to find the broomhead and his crumpled cigarette-smoking companion –

Millie tossed her head back and forth on the pillow, opened her mouth, and started screaming.

Meryl clamped her hands over her ears, taking deep breaths and trying to tune out the both the sounds. Between the claxons and Millie she couldn't even think – Doc had said that she might . . . might –

Almost as quickly as they'd started up, the alarm sirens died away, and she carefully removed her hands from her ears. The red lights continued to flash, clicking as they blinked on and off, but it was difficult to hear them over Millie.

Meryl winced, reaching first for Millie's face, then her shoulders – the girl barely breathed between yells. It didn't sound like she was hurting – it wasn't the right pitch, somehow. With every shout her face contorted more, so that she was almost unrecognizable. Her mouth was turned down, teeth bared as she let loose with a furious shriek. Her eyes were clenched shut, and the flesh of her cheeks was trembling with rage.

So she did get angry when she got woken up before she was ready.

A little hesitantly, Meryl finally decided on Millie's face. She put a hand gently on the girl's forehead.

"Millie, it's okay," she soothed. "It's just an alarm. You don't need to be afraid." Then again, she didn't look afraid. It looked like she wanted to get up and murder whoever had set it off. "It's gone now. See? Listen."

Millie seemed to hear her; her bellows tapered off after a moment, and her face seemed to relax. Her eyes unclenched, her lips smoothed, and after a few seconds her eyelids flickered.

"That's it," Meryl cooed in what she hoped was an encouraging voice. "It's over now. It stopped. You're safe, Millie. You're safe now."

The eyelids flickered like they meant it, and slowly pulled upwards to reveal dull blue eyes. Meryl could actually see the pupils contract as they took in the light, and then those eyes lazily blinked.

"Hey, Millie," she said brightly. "Good morning."

The eyelids blinked again, this time a little more rapidly, but Millie's eyes looked no more alert.

"S-smp," she slurred, then blinked again.

She could recognize them. She could speak. Meryl clamped her lips together hard to stop a sob of relief. After a moment she composed herself, and forced a bright smile.

"It's me," she confirmed, unnecessarily fidgeting with the hem of the blanket that had fallen to the other girl's shoulders in her struggles. "How do you feel?"

Millie looked around the room slowly, her eyes tracking sluggishly and unevenly. It reminded her very much of when Millie had overdone it on the booze, but this was even a little more lethargic.

"Zzweird," she replied after a moment, then focused on Meryl a bit owlishly. "Evverthnn's sllloh."

"That's because you just woke up," Meryl reassured her, patting her shoulder. "You just stay still a second. Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?"

Millie blinked, this time at almost a normal rate of speed, and her face seemed to bloat and flatten a bit as she tried to retract her head into the top of her neck. After a moment her eyebrows moved together, as if in confusion, and she swallowed noisily.

"That wazzarder than I r'member," she said, then frowned. "Whudappened?"

Meryl smoothed the edge of the sheet, that had somehow gotten clenched in her fist. "Don't worry about it, Millie," she said sternly. "You just focus on feeling better."

"Unkay," she slurred agreeably, and commenced another visual sweep of the room. This one seemed to work a little better, and if you didn't look directly at her eyes you'd think she was just tired.

She'll appear to respond intelligently to conversation, he'd said. Appear to. Since she'd just asked direct questions and responded to questions –

But she hadn't. She hadn't answered the question of whether she was thirsty or not.

"Do you want some water, Millie?"

The big girl's eyebrows quirked again. "Had some in th' truck," she replied, then got a look of complete concentration. "I guess that was a long time ago, huh, sempai."

The slur was gone.

Meryl stared at her, and Millie smiled.

It wasn't quite right. It wasn't that one side of her face didn't respond as well as the other, it was that the muscles didn't contract enough, or maybe they did it too much. The end result was a grimace that stretched her lips tight, and it looked so comical that she might have made that face on purpose at children. Meryl bit her bottom lip, and returned the smile.

"Was that a yes or no?"

Millie shifted slightly beneath the blankets. "Not yet," she replied, again without garbling the sounds. "How did I get here, sempai? How did you find me? Are we in Inepral City?"

She remembered that she was supposed to be in Inepral City.

The alarm lights had stopped flashing, at some point, and Meryl wondered uneasily if that was good or bad. Hopefully Doc would return soon, so she could carefully not explain to him that Millie seemed to be getting better with every second she was awake –

But her irises . . . something just wasn't right. They looked almost dead.

"You . . . you don't remember?"

Millie pursed her lips, and her eyes shifted to the right as she thought. She didn't say anything, but her expression clouded clumsily. "I remember," she said softly.

Meryl's breathing hitched, and she tried to hide it by patting Millie's arm. "Then you know we're not in Inepral City."

Millie shook her head slowly. "We're on a ship," she confirmed. "How long have I been sleeping? I had a really weird dream," she added without pausing for Meryl's answer. "There was a little boy, and glass and sand. They thought I was Rem. Isn't Rem the woman that raised Vash, sempai?"

Meryl blinked, trying to take everything in. A little boy turned into a they, and she thought she was Rem? Rem Saverem?

"Uh," she replied unhelpfully. "Millie, you've been unconscious for about eight hours."

"Oh, that's no time at all!" Millie tried to sit up, almost head-butting Meryl in the attempt. She looked confused when she found she had ended up in the same position she'd started in.

"Everything feels all wrong," she whispered. "What . . . what happened to me, Meryl?"

Oh god. What could she say? Meryl patted Millie's still-covered hand.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She seemed to think for a second. "Mr. Knives was killing people," she said quietly. "And I was following him, and – and –"

Her voice rose in pitch until it was almost a squeak, and she shook her head vigorously.

"NO!" she screamed, tearing at the blankets in an attempt to free her arms. The force of her efforts nearly threw Meryl off the bed. "NO!"

Millie managed to free her right arm, which she immediately brought up to her head, cradling it tightly. Her eyes were screwed shut, and she began to rock back and forth. "Oh no," she whimpered. "No no no – "

Millie trailed off into body-wracking sobs.

Meryl hesitated, then climbed fully into the bed, moving to sit beside Millie. She caught the girl mid-rock, and wrapped her arms around her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Millie, I didn't mean to upset you-"

Millie screamed in her throat, and shuddered violently.

- . -

Candice slipped into the seat beside him, tucking her stylus back into her PDA with the air of someone who was no longer on shift. He envied her; it would be another five hours at least of observation before he could get some well-earned sleep.

"How is she?"

The twenty-six year old blonde woman tucked a golden lock of hair behind her ear and sighed softly. "Her usual self. A little disgusted, maybe. She has a few lesions, but nothing significant. I doubt they'd scar even if we hadn't treated them with anything other than antibiotic ointment."

He nodded slowly. "I'm glad I'm not the one that had to check her over," he muttered under his breath, and Candice slung out her left arm and swatted him across the chest.

"You volunteered to research this project! The least you could do is show the woman some respect!"

He oofed, mostly for her benefit, then shook his head. "No, I meant, I don't want to see that old bat naked."

Candice rolled her eyes. "Men," she murmured. "Do you guys ever grow up?"

"Nope," he replied, leaning the chair forward from its comfortable slump to toggle the second monitor. He'd been in the observation deck for the better part of three hours, acting as Dr. Shrew's eyes and ears as it came to the other patients. The woman was hard-core, he'd give her that. She actually performed the majority of the surgery on the civilian doctor before she'd finally given up and let their chief trauma surgeon finish up.

The Shrew herself was in one of the observation rooms, pulling her clothing back on in her usual slightly offended manner, as though bothered that she had to waste her time doing it. Doc, whom they'd nicknamed "the old guy" was resting in Observation two, shoulder-deep in the grafting box. She'd taken the risky gambit, which was to amputate only the thoroughly cooked flesh and hope that by replacing the ruined layers of skin on the stump and upper arm she could promote healing.

The truly bad lesions and burns had been fairly limited to his forearm, where the Plant had held him, so she'd had his arm taken off just above the elbow. Still, it was extremely conservative on her part; had he been in the theater, the entire thing would have been removed. The old man's brachialis had been, literally, cooked meat. They could have served it in the mess and no one would have been the wiser.

"Well, it could have been worse," Candice said brightly, reclining in the chair beside him.

Yes. Yes, it could have. He'd gone over the footage about a dozen times now, but it never got old. He never would have pegged her for the type that wouldn't sacrifice a civilian, particularly one she didn't like, at the price of her own health. That had been an eye-opener.

Plants. Oops.

He looked at the main monitor, showing G-101B back in its operating theater. It had been oblivious to the entire thing, sleeping peacefully despite the men that had taken it tearing down the hall at breakneck pace. He checked its scan, noting a very slightly increase in brain activity. Still well within the range of coma.

G-101A was resting comfortably, also still in its old room. The blood gas problem seemed to have cleared up as soon as the Plant had had a chance to murder everyone, though that was probably due to the release of energy and the bizarre combination of sedative and inhibitor than anything else. It was still bleeding from some of the deepest wounds, but the newly formed scar tissue was not decaying despite the inhibitors, which had been a real worry.

It almost looked like that thing was out of the woods, so to speak. At least for now.

"I wonder if they . . . you know."

Sam chuckled. "'Fraid you'll have to be more specific. C'mon, help a brother out."

"No, that's what I meant," she nodded. "I mean, I know the rumor that they didn't like each other and all, but . . . Plants are telepathic, and all the Plants within a ship will set up a network of communication. I've always wondered if they don't . . . you know. Gossip and things. I suppose that's the only way they get to be social, and I'd hate to think it's just work they think about."

"Oh, you'd rather they think about how terrible humans are and tried to kill us?" The thought had crossed his mind more than once. "That'd be great, a production Plant that wanted to kill us. Can you imagine, if they freely associated things like that? They'd start . . . crushing us in the automatic doors, or opening airlocks unexpectedly-"

Candice hit him again. "Don't be that way! I'm sure if all the Plants could talk, not all of them would be like . . . like that one." She gestured at G-101B. "Haven't you ever talked to A-20034?"

He felt his eyebrows crawl for his hairline. "Uh, no," he said, very seriously. "There's a big difference between a production, standard Plant and these two. Namely, the other ones don't talk."

She frowned. "I talk to it," she admitted. "Sometimes I think it listens back. I tell it that it's beautiful. And sometimes I say thanks when it opens the door. I just . . . what if all of them could be like this? Just like G-101A can become a Plant as we know them, what if A-20034 could become a . . . a woman? I'd want her to remember that I was nice to her."

Sam rolled his eyes, and checked G-101B's stats again. Just to be sure.

That same, odd little spike was still present. Nothing to worry about, but new. New like G-101A's steady energy output had been new.

"Ugh. Gossipy women who could potentially live for hundreds of years. No thanks."

Candice laughed a little to herself, then got up. "I'm hitting the sack. Catch you on the next shift."

Sam shook his head. "My shift's not over for a while. I better not be on next shift."

She smiled at him as she headed out the door. "But think of all the excitement you saw. Your kids will ask you about G-101A, you know."

Kids. Yeah. He'd need to find a willing woman in order to have a few of those.

The doors slipped shut behind her, and he imagined her looking up at the ceiling and 'thanking' A-20034 for opening the doors.

Sheesh.

Yes, it could have been a lot worse. G-101A could have killed them all. Could have killed the old guy, Dr. Shrew, and released enough energy to threaten them on the deck. If it'd been mobile, it could have then proceeded anywhere in the ship. Could have tried to reconnect to A-20034, tried to overload their main generator.

Maybe it would have spared Candice, since she'd always been so nice to its . . . its sister Plant.

That had been eerie. It was getting harder to think of the Plant as the – the man, that had been strapped onto that very same bed about a week ago. A badly scarred blonde man with glazed, sad eyes, watching them trying to get the doses just right. Now, when he looked at that body, all he saw was a humanoid Plant, a dangerous thing that was recreating its own flesh and trying to kill any human that got near it.

That was how A-20034 would react, if all this research concluded that normal Plants could exist in a humanoid form. Hide from them, and try to kill them. If the Plants really could do that, think and talk and go to bars and accept free drinks –

They still didn't know what that Plant had said to Tony McClinton, but the large man wouldn't come anywhere near 'Vash the Stampede.' He'd been keeping his disapproval well-hidden, lest he draw ire from the commander, but it was plain whatever happened the night he'd assisted with the Plant's capture had colored his perception of Plants, or at least that one.

He wondered how differently it would have been colored if Tony had been sent after 'Knives' instead. Or how any of the other guys that Plant had slaughtered felt about Plants after a chat with it.

Or how Millie Thompson felt about that Plant.

He'd seen some motion on that camera a little before they started Doc's surgery in earnest, and had administered a mild sedative. Ms. Stryfe had simply said that the alarms upset the girl, and that wasn't surprising. She probably didn't know what the alarms were, just light and sound her brain couldn't process anymore.

God, he hoped she was totally gone. To be aware and trapped in your body like that –

Almost as scary as the thought of a Plant murdering you.

Sam rubbed his arms absently as the hairs stood up, and he glanced uneasily at G-101B again.

- . -

**Author's Notes**: Yes, this one was a bit shorter, but that's because it was the last half of last chapter. I guess I don't have too much to say, except you can expect the plot to pick up a bit. I'm really enjoying all the guessing of where this thing is going, because you guys are so much more creative than I am! I'm hoping this time the clues are a little more obvious, but as I always say, things will be explained in later chapters.

This fic has officially gotten complicated enough that I might actually forget to tie up some loose ends, so I'm counting on you to remind me what my loose ends are! (gives the readers a mission!) And gooey fudgey brownies. This is such a great fandom! You guys are super supportive and sweet!

**Inkydoo**, you officially get a fic of your choice, I'll write anything you request in this fandom or any fandom I know, as a show of my gratitude for going above and beyond sanity to review every single chapter of this fic! I went and looked, and I think, literally, half of the reviews are yours. You're really something else. Thank you SO MUCH! I've finished vol 7 of Trimax, so soon, I can embark on the Amazing Review Return on your fics!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see the Author's Notes at the end.

- . -

Gradually she became aware of someone talking, and she opened her eyes.

Only her eyes weren't open, not really. They were glowing, and she could see right through her eyelids.

Yellow light tinged everything she saw, yellow and red.

Blood.

She shuddered violently, shocked, and forced herself to look. To remember.

Blood spattered the inside of the outer bulb, darkening it. It cradled and swallowed the emaciated, spent body of the Plant. It tried to lighten the jet-black hair, fill the mouth cracked wide in a scream the humans hadn't heard.

Her sister.

A Plant.

Murdered right before her eyes.

And she powerless to do anything about it.

Rage boiled inside of her, so that she wanted to scream it, she wanted every last one of the loathsome spiders to hear it, and tremble. She barely made out the human behind her, begging forgiveness.

There would be no forgiveness. Not now.

Not ever.

Her left arm extended of its own accord, her fist clenched as the transformation began. She barely paid any attention, not to shape or size or the power being consumed. Every portion of her concentration was spent finding them, seeking them out, touching each feculent mind before piercing it. Their shrieks were far from her ears, and they brought her no satisfaction.

The technician that had initiated the torture, cut down at his console.

A child, its arms clinging to its brother as its body was cleanly cut away.

The mother trying desperately to shield her offspring –

She'd tried to shield her. Her sister had been crying, her pain is what had brought her to this place. She'd come to this prison of bulbs to help, and instead the technicians had begun –

What had they called it? The Last Run?

She would do the same to them. So that every one of their bodies lay spattered and spent against the dust of this planet, so their blood fed the sands instead of the Plants they sought to consume.

Still she reached, her gut roiling with the effort and her hatred and sadness. How dare they! To her sister! Her own kind!

Her brother.

She couldn't close eyes that were already closed. Couldn't stop herself from seeing with the light pouring out of her. The bulb held for her a different figure now, just as spent, its ripped torso a map of agonizing wounds inflicted by them. The hair was shorter, but no less dark, and the arm, its metal fingers impossibly frozen as he'd clawed frantically at the bulb, seeking escape –

Her brother.

The voice was still talking, still begging. The human was still trying to explain, to rationalize –

There was no rationalization for this. There was no escaping of the consequences of this action. How many Plants had so met their end, killed by those that had so used them? What right did they have?

What right did they have to kill her family?

How dare they!

She turned her head to her left, casting a baleful look out of the double-wide doors that made up the power generation facility. Red, as far as her closed eyes could see. She could see for iles and iles, nothing besides settling debris and spent, torn bodies spilling their putrid organs forth into the sunlight.

This was the last one.

She reached out, her arm having receded like her horror. It wouldn't happen to any more of her family. Never again. Her fingers wrapped around the pale throat and she tightened them incrementally, enjoying the feeling of the human's pulse quickening, beating frantically against her tightening grip as it struggled to push blood past her fingers down its owner's veins, her arteries.

Her? No, it had been the doctor that had restored her body –

Her body? She glanced down in confusion, noting that her worn and tattered traveling cloak failed to bulge slightly at her chest –

She shifted slightly, suddenly unsure, and she realized that her eyes were open. The light was gone.

Nothing was yellow or red. All she could see was white, white and black and flesh.

She blinked, confused, and realized the blurred film that clouded her vision was on the inside of her eyes, and not the outside. They felt clear as she blinked again, the surface smooth and slightly numb. Everything was slightly numb. Somewhere was a discomfort, but even as she concentrated on locating it she realized she was worsening it.

She took a deep breath, and forced herself to relax.

A jarring release snapped open her left hand, and the black and white and flesh colored blob seemed to grow smaller. She heard frantic gasps, but they couldn't have been coming from her controlled breaths. In and out. In and out.

Gradually the blurs settled into lines, and she realized she was staring at the ceiling.

What an odd dream, she mused, casting her eyes around the room. She was . . . she was in the ship. In the infirmary. She had been hurt, by Knives –

Her mind flinched at the memory, terrified of the concept of remembering but too scared to remember why. She heard her breathing hitch, and she cast around desperately for something else to focus on, before she couldn't stop herself and she remembered, oh, it hurt, and he'd been pinning her down –

Meryl's blotched face came into view, half concerned and half murderous. It was more than enough to stop her brain dead in its tracks.

"Meryl?" she queried, surprised at how slurred her voice sounded. That wasn't right at all. She thought hard about how to enunciate better, and tried again. "Meryl, are you okay? You look angry . . ."

The diminutive woman's mouth dropped open in shock.

_OF COURSE I'M ANGRY! YOU JUST TRIED TO KILL ME, YOU IDIOT!_

Then her mouth snapped shut, and her expression softened considerably.

_But it wasn't your fault, was it. You thought you were protecting your brother . . . I promise, I'll get you to your family as soon as I can. Please, please make it till then._

Millie stared at her in shock. Goodness! When had Sempai learned to throw her voice like that? Maybe she'd been bored, watching over her. Guilt swept over Millie, and she lowered her eyes. How long had she been here, stuck in this bed? Was that what she was afraid to remember? And here Meryl had stayed with her, this entire time, so bored she'd taught herself how to do that ventriloquist thing where they didn't move their lips at all –

What had she used for a puppet?

Millie leaned up a little off the pillows to get a better look of the room, gasping slightly at a sudden pain. Meryl's hands were instantly on her shoulders, pushing her back into the pillows.

"It's okay, Millie. Your family is fine. No one's hurting them. It's okay."

Well, that was good. Because if Mr. Knives had his way, he would slaughter all of them –

Mr. Knives!

Millie let out a low moan, all thoughts of finding the puppet forgotten. "Meryl, where's Mr. Knives –"

Meryl's hands were very firm, and she left them there for several moments before she seemed to trust that she wasn't going to try to get up again. Her back felt as though she'd been working in the fields all day and then someone had dropped a baling fork right on her spine. Hesitantly, she twitched her legs, balling up her hands in an effort to keep them from rubbing her thighs.

He'd made her do that in the truck, dragging limp hands over numb legs to get circulation and feeling back –

He'd made her do so few things. She simply had done nothing at all.

Millie moaned again, bringing up her hands and digging the heels of them into her eyes. All those people . . . in the halls of this ship, and they still took her in and gave her medical attention. How could she ever make it up to them? How could she ever explain why she hadn't turned the guns on Knives, instead?

Why . . . why hadn't she turned the guns on Knives –

Mr. Vash!

She looked up, surprised to see that Meryl's mouth was moving. Of course, she wouldn't play around now that they –

Now that they . . . had Knives? The men had given him the drugs, and what had they done with him? And what had they done with Mr. Vash? Cold fear struck her as she thought of him, lying in pieces in a pool of his own blood, staring up at her accusingly from the bottom of the bulb.

No. It had been a dream. A horrible, horrible nightmare. She focused on Meryl's lips, forcing herself to listen.

" – a bulb in a few hours, if they haven't already started." Meryl sounded tired, and worried. Her expression was very kind, and sympathetic. "Millie, are you listening to me?"

Millie shook her head. "I wasn't, I'm sorry, sempai."

Rather than get her usual exasperated look, Meryl just smiled. "That's okay. I'll start again, slower this time."

Slower? She wasn't a child, she just hadn't been paying attention! Millie swallowed a resentful response. Boy was she cranky! That nightmare had unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

"Knives was captured," she said clearly, rubbing Millie's left arm. The sensation seemed strangely dulled, and Millie would have withdrawn it except it seemed like Meryl had a death-grip on her hand. "They're going to put him in a bulb, Millie."

And then it would be his accusing eyes staring up at her.

Fear gripped her, such as she had never felt, and she found herself out of the bed and on her feet before she realized she couldn't stand. She buckled to the floor, gasping for air through suddenly constricted lungs. The feeling abated after a moment, and she could do little besides curl around herself, shaking uncontrollably. Her throat swelled with panic, and she saw stars before her eyes.

Meryl was next to her in a flash, wrapping small, warm arms around her. When had she gotten so cold?

"Millie, take it easy. It's okay. He can't get to you here. You're safe, Millie. You're safe."

It sounded like she was about to cry.

Millie fought to get her breathing under control, wondering at the adrenaline coursing through her. Why was she so weak? Why couldn't she stand?

"What's . . ." But she'd asked that already. What's wrong with me.

Meryl hadn't answered her.

She'd asked her what she remembered.

And she remembered Knives hurting her.

Hate swelled in her mind, and she shook it, trying to fling it out her ears. It was all-encompassing, like when the Plant had been killed, she'd never hated like that, never –

Meryl clung to her, and she concentrated on that feeling. It had been a long time since sempai had held her like this. Not since Nicholas –

Her eyes began to tear, and the anger abated as though it had never been.

It took a few moments, but she managed to pull herself together. So Knives had done something to her, to her head. The pain had been so much worse than before, and then she'd just woken up.

What had he done?

She tried to blink the tears back into her eyes, so when she looked up at Meryl, the girl wouldn't see. When they didn't cooperate, she just kept her head bowed, laying her forehead on Meryl's shoulder.

"What did he do to me?" she asked quietly.

_Oh, Millie. What do I say?_

"Tell me the truth," she replied, in what she hoped was a helpful manner. "Right from the beginning. Just tell me."

Meryl began to stroke her hair, and made no move to pick them up off the floor. That was never a good sign. The last time she'd done that –

Oh, god. Had someone died? If Mr. Knives was going into a bulb, he was still alive.

Had Mr. Vash?

"He . . . he tried to kill you, Millie," Meryl said evenly. It was odd to listen to her, her ear was pressed up against the base of Meryl's throat so it was sort of like listening to a voice through someone's chest. She recalled hearing her father's deep, rich voice like that, telling them stories when she was really little, and later, her Big Big Brother whenever she'd gotten scared or hurt –

Her brother.

Her eyebrows furrowed. Why had she thought Mr. Vash was her brother? He felt like one, sometimes. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to hold him like Meryl was holding her now.

How sad she must look, if Meryl thought she needed to be held like this! That wasn't fair to Meryl at all!

Millie leaned away, trying for a bright smile, and beamed at Meryl. The smaller girl was seated on her rump, her legs bent and sprawled out at opposite angles and her white uniform long gone. She was dressed in a light grey uniform, completely unfamiliar to her. It made her look larger, for one thing, and cooler.

Meryl was watching her with concern. "Millie?"

Millie quickly cast back to what Meryl had said. Mr. Knives had tried to kill her. But . . . no, that wasn't right. It was hard to remember without remembering, but she tried really, really hard.

"Stop fighting me!" he'd thought at her. He'd sounded desperate, and he'd been trying to hurt her, trying to see into her mind –

No. He hadn't been trying to kill her. She'd known that as soon as she'd heard his 'voice' in her mind. How urgent he'd sounded, so frantic. He wouldn't have been in a hurry to kill her, not when she'd been one of the few humans allowed to see his sister Plants –

She shook her head fervently. Meryl must have it wrong. "No, he wasn't," she reassured the older girl. "Mr. Knives was . . . I don't . . . I-I don't know what he was trying to do." Why on earth would he have invaded her memories again? Was it possible she'd known something that could help him fight the drugs? After all , she'd succumbed so fast, and been asleep for so long –

And her head had hurt. Badly. She thought about it, even going so far as to try to look at her own head, but it didn't . . . really hurt. It was a little numbed, just like the rest of her.

Meryl apparently didn't appreciate the cross-eyed look she'd just apparently gotten. "He did, Millie," the other girl insisted gently. "He . . . he caused some damage. To your brain."

Any thoughts she was having ground to a halt, and Millie stared at Meryl. "Damage to my brain?" she repeated. If he'd damaged her brain, why was she still alive?

Maybe . . .maybe that's why she was having the weird dreams. Maybe that was why everything felt so numb.

Fear iced her stomach, and she bit back a whimper. "How badly?" she asked, when she was sure her voice wouldn't shake. It sounded terribly frightened to her ears, and she hated it.

Even though he was going to be put in a bulb, she was still afraid of him.

_Oh, Millie. Why'd you have to ask that?_

"I need to know. It's my brain," she shot back, a little heatedly, then bit her lip. Snapping at Meryl was not the way to handle this. "I-I'm sorry," she added contritely. "Just tell me. Please?"

Meryl's eyes were tearing, but her smile was bright. "They don't know," she said quickly. "They were waiting to see how you were when you woke up."

_And they certainly never expected you to be . . . like this . . . I wish Doc would come back and explain all this to me! He knew, somehow, that you'd be . . . like this._

Doc? Doc as in Vash's Doc?

"When did Doc get here?" she asked, confused. "Or . .. was he kidnapped like me?"

Meryl was staring at her, and Millie realized, again, that Meryl's mouth hadn't been moving. The puppet! She cast a look around the room, but she could only see half of it. "Is your puppet over where you were sitting?" she inquired.

Meryl continued to stare at her until she started feeling self-conscious. "Uh, Millie? What made you think . . . that Doc was here?"

If Doc were here, that meant that Mr. Vash was going to be okay! Didn't it? Meryl hadn't answered her, and Millie's eyes widened in horror. Was that because . . . he was . . . was –

"Mr. Vash is okay! He's okay, isn't he?"

Meryl's eyes hardened a little, and she gathered her feet up under her. "Of course," she said steadily. "He always finds a way to weasel out of things, he'll find one this time. At any rate, you're going to catch cold on the floor. Come on."

Meryl's surprisingly strong little hands pulled at her elbows, and reluctantly Millie stood. Her legs felt like pudding tubes, and when she tried to walk to the bed she found her feet didn't move at all. She stared at them, momentarily confused.

What . . .? Why couldn't she pick up her feet?

After a second, she tried again, and her left foot shuffled forward a pace.

"That's it," Meryl crooned. "Now the other . . ."

She wanted to snap that she wasn't a baby, but she was too worried. This was just like when she'd been in the truck –

Of course! The drugs were still in her system.

But why didn't she have a headache?

Maybe they gave her painkillers. After all, it wasn't like she was in the sun, dehydrated, getting punched into windows by Mr. Knives –

The desire to hurt swept over her, terrifying in its intensity, and she cried out. By the time her vision cleared, she found she was mostly back on the bed, half-pinning Meryl beneath her. The smaller woman's face was turning red.

"Get – off," she huffed, and Millie hastily rolled to the side. Her movement was as clumsy as any other, and she bit back another moan as her back twinged again. So much for the painkillers –

"I'm sorry, sempai," she managed, and before she knew it she was rearranged in the bed, the sheet and thin blanket thrown back over her. The warmth was nice, and she snuggled down into the blankets. Her body was starting to remember how to move, and she was able to actually do what she wanted that time.

Was that what Meryl meant by damage? Was she going to have to learn to . . . to talk? To walk? All over again? It wasn't so hard. She'd already fixed the slurring problem, probably in a few hours she'd fix the walking thing –

But why had it made her so out of breath?

The doors slid open, and she turned to look at the newcomer. Much as she'd hoped, it wasn't Doc. It was a tall man, probably in his mid-twenties. He looked so much like the kind voice that Knives had killed that she almost cried out.

He was a member of the crew. The crew that kidnapped Mr. Vash. The crew that was going to put Mr. Knives in a bulb.

Again, an irrational fear gripped her. But why should she be afraid? If Knives was put in a bulb, everything would be okay. He couldn't hurt anyone in there, and it wouldn't matter what Mr. Vash had promised because –

No. No, it wouldn't be okay at all. It wasn't any more okay if Mr. Knives was in a bulb as it would be if Mr. Vash was in one. Convenient, but just as wrong. She steeled herself for the unpleasant questions they were going to ask her. They were going to ask her why she'd helped Mr. Knives, and it would be hard to explain –

Mr. Knives had been worried about his family. If someone had kidnapped a member of her family, she would have gone to extremes too. Her extremes wouldn't have involved . . . killing people, or torturing them –

Millie bit her lip and dropped her eyes to the blankets, staring at her feet.

_Oh, no! Please, Millie, please just shut up. Don't say a word -_

"Good morning, Sam," Meryl said, using her false contract-negotiating cheerful voice.

The technician – Sam – didn't respond, but Millie imagined him nodding. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

Maybe the kind voice had been his brother. Maybe she'd stood by while his brother was killed. Would she forgive someone who stood by while her brother was killed? Would she forgive them for doing nothing, even if they couldn't realistically have done anything?

Did she forgive herself for standing by, listening to the gunshots and explosions, while Nicholas had fought? Wasn't it the same thing?

Oh, god, wasn't it the same thing?

"Good morning, Ms. Stryfe, Ms. Thompson," the man finally said, in an oddly non-angry, cordial tone. "We saw her little adventure with walking - or, shall I say, falling . . . "

"It's okay. She didn't hurt herself."

_She's going to look up any minute, and they're going to figure it out –_

"We just need to check her out. Do you mind?"

Millie felt pressure as someone sat on the opposite side of the bed, and she took the time to wonder who Meryl thought she was fooling. Surely the technician knew Meryl was using a puppet, and could hear her –

She glanced up, surprised to see Meryl sitting, her hands carefully relaxed on her knees. It was what she did in contract negotiations when she felt like curling them up into fists.

There was nothing in them.

There was no puppet.

So if she wasn't practicing ventriliquinism, what on earth did she think talking out of the corner of her mouth was going to prove -?

But Sam acted as though he hadn't heard her, and instead, touched her chin. Millie started at the touch, almost opening her mouth, but then she closed it again.

Maybe Meryl wasn't talking.

Maybe Meryl was talking inside her head.

Like Knives.

Maybe Knives was making her see Meryl, when he was sitting right there!

Maybe she was still on the floor of that laboratory, and this was what he needed so desperately from her.

But . . . that didn't make any sense at all! Millie, you're being an airhead, she growled at herself. A light was shone into her eyes, and she turned sharply away as it seemed to stab into her brain.

Maybe it wasn't the light that was stabbing. Maybe it was him.

She turned her face away, fighting the pressure of his hand on her chin, and then shook it vigorously. She wanted to beg him to stop, but something about Meryl's carriage and her words stopped her. She obviously didn't know what was going on, and that unknown discomfort was growing –

"Okay, it's okay, I'm sorry," Sam said soothingly. "We'll look later, okay? I put it away. See? It's too bad she's this mobile, it's going to be a bitch trying to get decent test readings without knocking her out, and that completely defeats the purpose," he added, as though to himself even though it was aloud.

She glared at him from under her eyebrows, and he smiled in amusement. "That's a nice dirty look you have there, Ms. Thompson. You almost look like you understand what's going on."

Except his lips stopped moving after 'Ms. Thompson.'

"That's nothing compared to the ones she used to give," Meryl said quickly from her left. _Just . . . stay quiet, Millie. Stay afraid._

Millie bristled. She wasn't afraid of him! She was just –

Ashamed. Ashamed and worried that he'd hate her.

Afraid he wasn't there at all. Afraid she was still trapped in her own mind, and Knives was pulling the strings. That she was the missing puppet that could hear Meryl's voice when no one else seemed to. That the insults that were coming from Sam were being supplied by her own brain.

He continued to smile, adjusting something on a machine to the right. "Well, she seems a little tense. I'm going to increase the muscle relaxers, that should calm her down a little. She's pretty alert, wouldn't you say?"

Meryl made a noise. "I'm just glad she's awake." It sounded so sincere it made Millie choke up. Had Meryl thought she was going to die? Had she scared her so much?

What had Doc told them Knives had done to her?

What _had_ Knives done to her, that they though she shouldn't be able to talk or walk? Doc seemed really, really smart, he wouldn't say she had brain damage unless she did.

Millie gasped. What if she just thought she was being coherent? What if that voice of Meryl's she was hearing was really her own brain playing tricks on her? What if all of this was a dream, and she was in a coma?

What if . . . what if she was dead?

No. She shook her head as if to clear it. That was ridiculous. She was fine. Knives had been . . . searching for something. Maybe he hurt her because he was clumsy, he was falling victim to the gas and his powers should have been immediately affected. Maybe he'd made a mistake, done something he shouldn't have. Maybe she was just going to be numb like this.

It wasn't so bad. She could talk. She could walk. Most importantly, she could think.

Meryl's hand was on hers, again, and she stared at the older girl questioningly.

I wonder if I'm supposed to say something now?

But something in Meryl's eyes made her stay silent. It was like the other girl was willing her to be quiet.

Was there some reason that Meryl would want the people on the ship to think she was . . .unable to talk? Was she afraid they'd ask her about Knives and what had happened if they thought she wasn't as badly injured as they had originally thought? What had happened in that time that Meryl wouldn't want her to tell someone?

"She'll probably do that a lot, shake her head," Sam was saying. "I don't think she's in a lot of pain, but she might be feeling phantom pressures, like someone's touching her."

Meryl nodded. "Yeah, Doc told me . . . what to expect. That she probably wouldn't talk." She gave the girl a meaningful look.

Millie almost started to glare. She'd heard the first time, after all, and she hadn't said a word! Why was Meryl treating her like she was stupid –

Because Meryl still thinks that there's something wrong with you, she told herself. And you're hearing voices that aren't there, so maybe there _is._

"Where is Doc, by the way?" Meryl tried, a little tentatively. "He said he'd be back, but that was hours ago –"

The technician grimaced. "I'm sorry, hasn't anyone told you?" He patted Millie's arm, and she resisted the urge to slap his hand away. Maybe if she wasn't supposed to talk she wasn't supposed to be able to move, either.

"Remember the alarms that went off?"

Meryl's shoulders tensed, and she nodded. Millie blinked. Alarms?

"That was the quarantine warning. One of the Plants started attacking them. Dr. Shrew managed to neutralize it, but not before it got ahold of the ol- of Doc. Plucky old fool."

Meryl looked stunned, and Millie couldn't help but follow suit. One of the Plants . . . they knew that Mr. Vash and thus Mr. Knives was a Plant, she'd known that, but to hear them say it like that –

"He'll be okay," Sam hastened to reassure them. "But his arm was pretty badly burned, both from the heat of the energy and the radiation. They've – that is to say, Dr. Shrew, actually – had to amputate a good portion of it. He'll probably need a few more surgeries, but then he'll be up and as good as new. As soon as he makes himself a new bionic arm, that is. I wonder if he can do that one-handed . . ." He rose off the bed, the mattress springing back.

"I can take you to visit him, if you like. He's resting right now, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind the company of someone other than his 'captors.'" Sam said it lightly, but it was obvious it bothered him. Or he considered it a joke.

Meryl shook her head quickly. "No, I should really stay with Millie. But . . . in a few hours, can I . . .?"

He nodded. "We'll need to sedate Ms. Thompson and run some tests, to make sure the clots haven't moved yet," he replied. "That would probably be a good time to visit him. Or to get some sleep. There's no need to make yourself sick, Ms. Stryfe."

She just nodded absently. "Okay. I just want to stay with Millie while . . ." She left it hanging, but apparently Sam got the hidden message, and he nodded.

"Of course. I understand. If you need anything, just press the button here –" He apparently indicated a button, but Millie was still studying her feet, "and one of us will come immediately. We won't be able to do a damn thing, but we'll come."

Millie wondered how much of his words Meryl could hear, and how much her brain was making up.

"Thank you," Meryl sounded sincere. "I just . . . like to talk to her. I'm sure I'm a laughingstock by now . . ." She let it trail off, trying to sound embarrassed, but it was obvious she was affecting it. Millie tried to keep the confused look off her face. Why would she say something like that?

Sam sighed. "We noticed that you were speaking, and we've turned the audio off in the observation room," he reassured her. "Feel free to tell her what you need to say. I'm sure she can hear you."

"Me too," Meryl breathed. _If you only knew . . ._

Millie stared at her feet with new fascination, biting her tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

The doors closed after a moment, and Millie glanced up at Meryl curiously.

"Why . . . did you say those things?"

Meryl just shook her head, apparently amazed. "I'm so glad you caught on so quickly," she complimented. "I was afraid you were going to say something! How did you know?"

Millie blinked. "You told me not to."

Meryl shook her head slowly, looking slightly alarmed, and it made Millie uncomfortable. Meryl had never looked at her that way before. "No, Millie," she said softly. "I didn't."

So she was hearing voices. There was something wrong with her.

Apparently her expression gave away her distress, because Meryl moved from her chair to the side of the bed, perching there uncomfortably. Millie squared her jaw after a moment.

"I'm not supposed to be able to talk?"

Meryl hesitated, then shook her head. "They didn't think you'd wake up at all," she whispered, then looked up. Her eyes were vaguely . . . no. Meryl couldn't possibly be –

Afraid of her?

"What happened, Millie? How did you end up . . . how did Knives get you?"

Hate swelled in her, but she fought it back. It wasn't hers, it was something awful and primal and it had no place in her memories. She could almost see her own terrified face, it was like she had wrapped her own hand around her throat and was holding herself up off the ground.

_This is the moment when you died._

"He . . . there were these two men." No, that wasn't right. There had been nothing but the cool night air, and the happy feeling of knowing Mr. Vash was soon to get her letter, and then no more than a bug bite –

"Someone drugged me, when I went to mail that letter." Oh, how sempai must have worried! "I didn't mean to worry you, Meryl, I'm sorry-"

"Hush," she said, some of her usual authoritativeness coming back to the fore. It was oddly comforting. "Nevermind that. So they drugged you. They were part of this crew, trying to intercept the letter to Knives."

Millie thought about it, then shook her head. "I don't think so. At least, they didn't want the letter. They wanted to know how I knew where to send it. They were looking for Mr. Knives."

She stopped, fighting to keep her voice under control.

"But Mr. Knives found them first," she finally continued. "And . . . he killed them. And he t-told me that he needed a hu- he needed someone to help him. And the men had a syringe of drugs, and h-he –" She broke off. Meryl didn't want to know what Mr. Knives had done next. "And I woke up in a truck. And –" And she'd helped him kill the next two soldiers. "And he found where they'd taken Mr. Vash, and so we headed here."

_Oh, god. Oh my god. What did he do to her? Does she remember?_ A burst of protective rage washed over Millie, and she shuddered as it tickled down her spine. _If I wasn't sure they were going to do it, I would kill that son of a bitch myself -!_

"Mr. Knives didn't –" But she couldn't say that. He had hurt her. He'd struck her, and injected that drug into her, and worse than that, he'd – he'd done something much more horrible. Just the thought of everything he'd seen made her shiver.

_Oh, no. Oh god. No, Millie, you didn't deserve that –_

"He can't hurt you anymore," she said soothingly, but Millie pulled back. What did Meryl think –

Oh.

Oh!

Wait. That was –

Millie shook her head. "He – he didn't do anything like that." But it was like that, her mind whispered back. "He saw things. In my mind." She'd never meant to share those moments with him, particularly those times she'd seen Meryl and –

"I didn't mean to let him see!" It was almost a wail. "I couldn't stop him, sempai. It was like I was so small, and he was so much stronger –"

Meryl's arms tried to wrap around her again, but this time she pulled away. "But it doesn't matter! We can't let him – it's wrong, sempai! Mr. Knives – he only wanted to help Mr. Vash!"

Meryl was staring at her, shocked. "Millie, he's –"

She shook her head vehemently. "It doesn't matter! It's his family, Meryl!"

Meryl blinked her grey-violet eyes, and again, for a split second, there was such a foreign expression in them –

_She can't be saying that. She can't be –_

"He came here to help Mr. Vash. He was worried about him. He even wore human clothes!" It occurred to her that that statement probably sounded a little weird. "We have to help him, sempai! We have to!"

She knew it in her bones, the more she thought about it, the more urgent it became. She had to get Knives out of that bulb, prevent it at all costs. If they put Mr. Knives in a bulb – the very thought made her skin crawl, and she shuddered violently.

". . . Millie?"

She threw the sheets off the bed, rubbing vigorously at her thighs. Willing feeling to come back to them. "We have to get them out of here, sempai! Mr. Vash and Mr. Knives! Even if . . ." She didn't let her voice tremble. "Even if Mr. Knives wasn't lying, and Mr. Vash has to shoot me twice."

Meryl was staring at her, making no move to stop her movements.

" . . . Millie . . ?"

- . -

**Author's Notes:** As you might have guessed, this chapter too is being split into two parts. As you might also have guessed, italics indicate thoughts. Some of Sam the technician's thoughts are not italicized, but those that were thoughts are noted by Millie's observations that his mouth wasn't moving after a certain portion of his comments to her. Also, Meryl didn't murder him for being disrespectful.

The beginning dream sequence was stolen absolutely from the manga, and I blame Alaena and Inkydoo for making me read the manga. It's their fault::nods fervently: Please forgive any massive typos – I still have not located a beta reader for this epic I'm writing, and this chapter was pretty quickly written.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer in previous chapters. In which I shuffle the players around on the board a little bit.

- . -

"Don't be a fool."

He adopted the expression of an orphan kicked for trying to sleep on a general store's doorstep, but he didn't lower the sash-like material.

She narrowed her eyes, and his face relaxed into something more somber. She was letting him get away with his previous antics less and less, and part of her felt more than a little guilt for sucking dry what miniscule moments of fun he was getting out of life. The rest of her recognized that this was no time for games, and he needed to act like he was as serious about this as he needed to be.

But since he'd just given her that indication, a moment of play at his expense could be afforded . . .

She lowered her chin slightly, leaving her eyes narrowed, and raised one shoulder, changing the gap of her bodice. "You do know what is implied when a man approaches a lady with a scarlet scarf, don't you?"

His solemn expression never flickered, but the faintest tinge of a blush appeared on his cheeks.

"Of course," he responded smoothly. "Frankly I wasn't certain you'd be receptive, but a gentleman has to ask."

She was a little nonplussed by his confident answer. She had expected him to start gibbering like a moron and stuttering apologies, considering he was all but asking permission to tie her to a bedframe. Then again, as much skirt-chasing and flirting as he did, it was rather stupid to think that every story regarding Vash the Stampede riding out of town with the local beauty in tow was fabricated.

"I should have expected nothing less from a man of your profession," she purred, letting her eyes drift down his frame. He'd eschewed the familiar duster for a pair of traveling trousers in a non-descript khaki and a brilliant white button-down, loose at the collar. Loose enough to not prohibit movement and allow him to don his body armor beneath it, but still accentuating his athletic build.

His blush turned a shade darker, but remarkably he held himself together until her gaze wound its way back up to his eyes. "I'm actually just the messenger." He waited a beat before smiling, slowly and a little unsettlingly. "This particular requirement is being insisted upon by my brother."

"How cosmopolitan," she muttered, effectively breaking the mood. As if the mere mention of Knives hadn't already done it for her. "I'm not going anywhere in a blindfold, Vash. I can calculate the location by the duration of the trip if nothing else."

The Humanoid Typhoon winced, but he still didn't drop the scarf. "Uhm, yeah, about that –"

She stared at him. He wasn't telling her what she thought he was, was he? "What else did Knives stipulate?"

He didn't feign fear and cower back into the vehicle like she'd expected. More and more recently, his most predictable traits were dropping away.

"We're not exactly going to go directly there."

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest. "Why not just hit me over the head, Vash? What is the point of cooperation between us if I am not to know something as basic as locating Knives when I need him!"

"Would you prefer to be unconscious?" The sad look was back. "I was sort of hoping we could talk during the trip, but if you'd rather –"

She took a deep, cleansing breath, her gaze scanning the alley as she considered her options. Backing out now was – well, it was unthinkable. As far as Vash had revealed, she was literally the first human that would set foot in the area that the twin Plants had decided would mark the beginning of their terraformed home. She was also the first human to receive a handwritten – well, missive, it might as well have been orders from the Engineering Federation for all the care Knives took in proper etiquette. She wasn't sure Vash had read it and she certainly hadn't offered it to him.

Vash's, on the other hand, had been made in person, and had definitely been a request.

But even carefully phrased, the twins had ultimately said the same thing. Vash and Knives needed her as a human representative to peddle their solar solution to the people of Gunsmoke as a whole. While Vash saw her as a professional, a human, and possibly an attempted friend, she was simply a tool as far as Knives was concerned. And she'd spent most of the night before considering the implications of learning the location of his 'Eden.'

This blindfold and roundabout drive there was Vash's way of giving her a way out. If she didn't really know Eden's location, there was one less reason to kill her when the project was completed.

Oddly, this was not the first time the exact same thought had been carefully weighed and measured in her relatively short lifetime. She'd previously made the decision that the project hadn't been worth her life.

There wasn't much chance of her making the same decision about this one.

But the idea of undertaking such a hideously overwhelming, technically-geared proposal without the ability to easily brainstorm with its creators was, to give it a word, asinine. If something failed with production, she'd what? Sit on her hands and wait for Knives to eventually show up, pin her to the wall and ask her why she'd stopped work?

"I can't successfully take on this project without the ability to freely communicate with the both of you," she said seriously, bringing her attention back to the patiently waiting Plant before her. "I have to have a way to collaborate with him, forward on schematics, ask questions . . . the technology you're both so accustomed to using is largely still a mystery to current engineers, as is the theory behind merging contemporary solar collection mechanisms with existing plant technology. If I can't initiate contact without you as a buffer, this project will fail."

He dropped his outstretched arms, not releasing the strip of red fabric but winding it around his hands thoughtfully. "I know it won't be easy," he said softly, and for the first time in a long time, he lowered his eyes and wouldn't meet hers. "It was wrong of me to ask for your help-" His voice sounded as though it wanted to scamper back into his throat, but he didn't let it. "I know that. I-. . . I just don't know what else to do, Elizabeth. Please."

God damn that man.

Much later, she'd wondered if he hadn't perfected that along with all the idiotic behavior in his long lifetime. For all his teasing, a simple expression of his own hopelessness was more than enough to sway the coldest of hearts.

And they'd solved that communications barrier with the letters. It was inefficient but it was better than nothing, and as condescending and clipped as his 'letters' had been, Knives had always supplied the needed information in a format that could be digested and applied despite her admittedly limited understanding of the exact function of every piece of the puzzle.

And they'd solved the production problem with the panels, thanks to a very young man named Kaite and his memory of a much more brilliant engineer.

They'd solved so many of the problems his rash promise had created.

But this one . . . this one had to take the cake.

"I hate to suggest this," and she kept her tone apologetic and her eyes on the screens, "but are you certain this equipment has been calibrated properly?"

Dr. David Greer didn't look up from his work. Though, in actuality, it would have been a down and left look. The chair had him positioned a bit awkwardly for conversation, but it didn't seem to disorient him in the least.

Hadn't his field had something to do with theoretical physics? He'd probably spent most of his research years pre-SEEDs tinkering with bulbs just like this one, trying to explain why you could pump a few cubic feet of nitrogen into a bulb and ten ounces of tin would glop out. Of course, she could almost guarantee that he'd never been working with a Plant like the one that had just come out of that bulb, or the one that had just gone in.

"Of course," he responded after a moment, with a hint of offended pride. "I ran a full reset and defaulted all the values after the removal of G-101A."

She pursed her lips, contemplating the graph. She was no expert with the biology charts, and could only guess at the fluid specs, but the numbers themselves looked familiar and right. She'd never paid much attention to them, of course, but years and years moving from plant to plant, gazing thoughtfully at the graphs she'd never gotten around to really learning, had given her the ability to see the graph as a whole and recognize it, even if each number meant nothing to her. She probably couldn't have filled in the chart if one had been handed to her blank, but nothing about those numbers really seemed extraordinary.

"I wasn't referring to this bulb," she remembered to reply, moving her attention to the attitude readings. Since the cold generator Knives was currently being installed into was logically separate from A-20034, she couldn't alter the readings she was seeing. And that separation might have been more than mere network protocol. There may literally have been no physical way to link the chair in which Dr. Greer was currently perched to A-20034's bulb for attitude adjustment.

So she did want to be certain when she spoke again.

"Your other Plant is reacting rather strongly."

She knew she'd captured his attention when she heard the telltale fizzle of a monitor's refresh to a different hertz.

And there was reason. Despite the attitude settings looking precisely correct, and to her knowledge not having been adjusted since the Plant obeyed Knives' telepathic influence , there was no doubt the ship's permanent, first generation Plant was distressed.

Not distressed enough to stop outputting energy or products. Not distressed enough to dip below or above operating parameters. Just . . . not quite right.

And upon seeing those readings, she wanted to rotate the inner bulb on its current axis by about two degrees. Any change of more than a degree would have a significant impact on production rates, so she was at a loss to determine why the Plant _wasn't_ operating outside of normal parameters.

"Ah ah ah," the doctor murmured to himself. "Your observation is, as usual, astute. What . . ." He trailed off, obviously slowly forming the same conclusion she had.

She pulled up the logs of the last fifty configuration changes, looking over the dates as well as the adjustments themselves. No one had made more than a half-degree change in years. Though the last change was a few days ago –

She blinked and refused to let her expression change. "Can I assume change 1328 occurred when Vash actually began releasing enough energy to power the bulb?"

"You can indeed."

So she had last responded to Vash making telepathic contact, assuming he'd released his mental barriers when he'd acquiesced to produce his Angel Arm.

She glanced back at the bulb. The room was dark, dark enough that even with the spotlights on the giant bulb it was impossible to see the still form nestled within its inner curves.

Almost like a womb. Maybe it would give that miserable son of a bitch some of the comfort he obviously never had as a child.

Not that they were supposed to find out for about eight hours, though. That was supposed to have been how long it would take the sedatives and inhibitors to work out of his system. And even then, he was supposed to be kept under maintenance sedation for a few days to ensure he didn't manifest a blade and break the bulb.

She shivered slightly at the idea of a Plant-Knives emerging from that broken womb, glowing eyes even colder than his human ones, nothing but a tangle of wings and legs and scythes.

Surely he wasn't awake in there? Surely he hadn't already begun telepathic communication?

Elizabeth minimized her current document as she heard the chair hum, and within moments Dr. Greer staggered out. His age was showing; he moved stiffly and somewhat clumsily as he stepped out of the instrument.

"I need to tend to our other Angel, perhaps it's feeling abandoned," he murmured, as if to himself. "Ah, Miss Boulaise, I don't mean to be overly rude, but-"

She merely nodded, logging out of the console. "I wouldn't leave me alone in the control room either," she admitted lightly. "I don't believe your commander is overly cautious, and I do not blame him. Please don't worry."

Her words seemed to alleviate what tiny fraction of guilt he might have been considering feeling for kicking her out of the room. She would not be allowed to assist in the recalibration of A-20034, nor would she be allowed anywhere near a console that would allow her to interact with either the biological or engineering sides of G-101B until she was back beneath his supervision. The other engineers had begun treating her as a special apprentice, but she wasn't blind to their effortless indulgence.

They knew as well as she did that the thin ice she'd been pacing all along was well on its way to a spring thaw.

Dr. Greer gathered up his hand-held instruments and she did the same with the small portable computer they'd loaned her. At his nod, she exited the control room, passing two white-coated engineers that would do nothing more than monitor for changes until their return.

Of course, not being welcome around the ship's primary Plant meant that she would probably be asked nicely to return to her quarters. And as she now carried one of the ship's PDAs, she was certain, despite the lack of extremely nearby chaperones, her movements were carefully monitored by the ship's systems.

The amount of freedom she'd been given, and the short amount of time in which it had been granted, was telling. So was the commander's allowance of Aaron and Sunjy from beneath house arrest. She had requested it only because she thought she needed to in order to keep up appearances, but his eventual assent was still unexplained. Likely a gesture to make her feel as though they trusted her, and an opportunity to prove that trust misplaced.

Despite the supposed freedom, she knew that Aaron was never allowed out of sight of the more highly trained security guards. This worked absolutely in their favor. He was endearing himself to them somewhat by making pointed suggestions for improvements. While this security detail came from a fairly orderly Earth, they knew very little of the current tactics of mercenaries and thieves on Gunsmoke, and were grudgingly open to his recommendations. Particularly when he provided impromptu demonstrations.

She was probably lucky the first one hadn't gotten him killed. Now the boys had made a game out of it, and his cover as a mass of stupid, mean muscle was gradually being shifted to a mass of stupid, but slightly nicer muscle.

Sunjy, on the other hand, was having a little less luck. He was staying under the radar, which rather counterintuitively was really starting to get under Private Asouard's skin. The commander's secretary made sure there were people on him at all times. He wasn't allowed much terminal access, which had made him nearly useless to her during the logistics project save as a resource for the current costs for commercial shipping on Gunsmoke. Since the programmers were still trying to track down the source of the data deletion that would tell them whether they had a traitor on board, they were working at an alarming pace and not particularly receptive to anything the quiet man had to say.

Outside of very basic duties, the two bodyguards were allowed to keep Elizabeth company while she was in her own quarters. That was really about it.

She headed out of the generator area, talking the long, empty storage chamber in stride as she headed back to her little suite of rooms. She could probably use Sunjy's lack of progress to keep Terry's eyes blinkered to some of her or Aaron's activities. He could easily appear suspicious without actually doing anything remotely questionable. He was possibly the only man she knew that could look suspicious even while sleeping. She hated to put him in that position, but he would certainly volunteer if she asked him, and he was probably the most likely to survive it. Aaron was making friends easily enough, and she had Dr. Greer and probably Dr. Shrew wrapped around her finger.

The problem was Commander Gray. And he was, currently, an insurmountable one.

Perhaps she had cooperated too much, or revealed everything too quickly? She'd made a mistake with him at some point, but she couldn't pinpoint it. Then again, maybe it was simply that she was out of practice. She hadn't had to lie to this extent since she'd joined the Marius Breskin Kantacle Industrial Technical Union over a decade ago. Unless you counted the day she lied to discontinue her association with them and join the EF. And that hadn't been lying as much as it had been a very tactful expression of disapproval.

Perhaps it was no fault of her own. Perhaps that was just the kind of man that he was. Clearly he was as skilled as she was in manipulating people, and he certainly had more experience. Though there didn't seem to be many female officers on the ship, so perhaps she could take heart in the theory that he had encountered few women as practiced as she was, and thus couldn't read her as clearly as he seemed to.

She was also oddly glad of the fairly modest grey uniform, and the lack of makeup. Her complexion didn't need it, and it also prevented him or anyone else from misinterpreting her manner. She was getting enough looks as it was, and she was almost certain someone had had the trousers tailored specifically for her. She figured an attempted seduction was about as likely to work in her favor as Meryl Stryfe's temper tantrum had worked in hers.

Meryl.

She swallowed a sigh, and rather than turning right at the end of the corridor, she turned left. She could always use the excuse that she wanted to check in on Millie Thompson, or have her own fractured wrist looked at. There were enough reasons for her to hit the infirmary that it wouldn't look overly unusual. And it was becoming clear that at some point she was going to have to employ the assistance of the insurance investigator.

While Aaron could cover his end, with Sunjy in such a compromising position, she couldn't count on the two of them alone getting her out of this. They'd come to this ship together, and they were going to have to leave together.

If any of them were going to get out of this in their lifetimes.

She approached the main lift, waiting patiently as it sensed her and changed its travel pattern accordingly. She actually wasn't sure they hadn't fitted her with another transmitter at some point, either in the wristbrace that fit so slim and snug beneath her borrowed uniform's sleeve, or perhaps even the boots. Perhaps when she had slept one had been surgically implanted. Wherever it was, the ship's technology had become significantly easier to interact with since she'd had the chance to ditch her traveling clothes, sleep, and bathe.

The doors slid apart almost silently, and she didn't bother to hide her surprise as she caught sight of the two occupants.

"Commander, Private," she greeted, nodding her head slightly to the two men. Terry nodded back with a smile, and the commander merely gestured.

"Going up?"

She smiled and joined them in the small lift, turning to face the panel and touching the correct disc. "Yes. I was hoping to see how Miss Thompson was doing." She knew she didn't have to explain herself but it feigned intimidation, and she was willing to concede weakness as a gesture if it strengthened her position.

Pride had no place in these negotiations. And she was fooling herself if she believed that wasn't exactly what every conversation with Commander Gray was. A negotiation.

"I'm sure she and Ms. Stryfe would be happy to see you," Terry responded, in what sounded like a genuinely friendly tone of voice. "I understand she's been doing better than expected, though I'm surprised you were able to pry yourself away from her attacker . . ."

She smiled, and shifted so she could see both men without craning her neck. "We noticed an anomaly with your current production Plant, so Dr. Greer is handling maintenance and I got the afternoon off."

Terry just nodded politely. The commander was watching her with cool eyes.

"Speaking of the Plants, I wonder if I could have a word regarding your logistics predictions?"

"Of course." She could pull up the proposal on her PDA if she really wanted to, but she had a feeling she knew exactly where he was going.

"I couldn't help but notice how swiftly you were able to assemble all that data," he murmured as the doors opened. Apparently his previous destination was less important, because he actually stepped forward, indicating he was willing to walk with her towards the infirmary. Terry followed them, a few paces behind.

"I didn't have too many other options as far as spending my time was concerned," she reminded the commander, though careful to keep her voice from sounding resentful. "I'm thankful that you felt comfortable enough to allow me to participate in this project, rather than tucking me out of the way for the next few weeks."

Bryan actually chuckled. "I see," he finally responded. "We do appreciate your assistance, Ms. Boulaise, more than you know."

She looked straight ahead, projecting slight discomfort at the compliment. "If there's anything more I can do, I would be happy to offer my services."

Obviously that was the segue he wanted, because he came to a gradual stop in a fairly isolated part of the main corridor. She remained at his side, giving him a slightly wary but curious look.

"There's another portion of this project that would go more smoothly with your cooperation. I have been informed that Ms. Thompson may have had this information but will be unable to provide it to us."

She waited patiently; she'd noticed that no one ever interrupted him, and she expected that was with good reason.

His lips curled upwards slightly. "Had you worked out previous logistic projections for Millions Knives, in transporting the freed Plants to their new location?"

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to smile. "It wasn't needed. Vash acted as the transportation. Obviously, being a Plant himself, a good deal of the safeguards and the bulk of the equipment were unnecessary."

The commander nodded, and began walking again. After a moment she followed him.

"So you were never part of installing the Plants in their new bulbs?"

That was a good point, and one she'd made herself. Plants in general weren't supposed to survive well outside of the bulb. The brown material that Vash so carefully wrapped them in was a super-refined nylon that was as soft as baby's skin to the touch, and even that probably caused them discomfort. Even the humanoid twins could be sunburned, could die from exposure. She hated to think what a shock it must have been for those Plants their first night out in the actual environment.

"I don't think they were installed into new bulbs," she admitted. "When I last saw Eden, I saw no evidence of bulbs or a structure large enough to hold them. I also didn't see any freely roaming Plants, excluding Vash and Knives, of course."

He nodded slowly, assimilating what she'd revealed.

"Of course, there was too much foliage to see a great distance," she added, almost as an afterthought. "I have no doubt they were there. Vash would have told me if one of their sisters had died."

"Eden," he repeated softly.

The first time she'd seen it, she'd been staggered by it. That had been only a few months into the project, so she'd expected some grass, a few buildings reminiscent of a SEEDs ship, and a nice little pond. What she had seen was something out of a fairy tale. Emerald carpeting as far as the eye could see. A fresh feeling in the air, the softest sound of something she'd never heard in her life, but could listen to until the end of time.

The trees, she'd later learned. Millions of leaves rubbing against one another in the breeze, rather than the few hundred that whispered in the geoplants she'd visited.

But never in either of the visits she'd made to that place had she ever seen the Plants. Just the main chamber of the house, and Knives.

"It was in Meryl's reports, I'm sure," she supplied. "That Vash the Stampede had laid claim to land and forbidden anyone from trespassing, on pain of rampage. That was the land they set aside to terraform. It's . . . quite a sight. Beautiful."

"How often did you visit?"

She stopped them, then, turning to face him directly. "Once I reveal the location to you, will I continue to have a role in this relocation project?"

An amused glint came to his eyes. "Of course. Why would you think otherwise?"

"I've been a woman in a man's world for some time now." It wasn't really her shtick, but given the radical tipping of male to female officers, she was fairly sure it would ring true to his Earth-bound ears and political understanding. "The only reason I remain a premiere Plant engineer on this planet is because I hold my card close to my chest, so to speak."

Bryan paused before inclining his head. "And I've given you so little reason to trust me?"

She appeared to chew on that a moment. "If you agree to release me and my men without harm after Knives has stabilized in the bulb, I'll make the proposal. I was the one that uninstalled those Plants, and I'd like to have a hand in replacing them."

He blinked, then shook his head with a more fully formed smile. "You'd be setting back your own timetable several days with that delay."

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you suppose using satellites to find the green blob on the brown planet will be any faster?"

They were only a few yarz from the infirmary doors, and Bryan looked at them consideringly for a moment. "We need those Plants found before they scatter to the wind."

"I doubt they can. Knives would never have left if they weren't safe. And safe would mean somehow restricted to his borders."

She'd already thrown that tidbit into her logistical projection. That Knives had employed human slaves or possibly something more complex as a security system to ensure his sisters were provided for until his return. Obviously the commander recalled that particular detail, because he didn't pursue it farther. In fact, she'd somehow lost his attention entirely.

"I apologize for delaying your visit with your friend. Thank you for speaking so frankly with me," he murmured, walking her to the infirmary door before inclining his head.

"We'll discuss this more seriously another time."

"Of course," she agreed, and he was gone.

Elizabeth glanced around the infirmary hall, noting the room labels and proceeding accordingly. She needed to check in on Doc, they couldn't very well leave him here when they made their escape. Unfortunately, Vash's attack had been the talk of the engineers, and it had led her to believe that the elderly man was probably incapable of getting up, let alone actually assisting them. Still, he might know something about the ship or its systems that could be useful. Possibly he'd even gathered a password or two along the way.

He would have to be her second stop, though. Her excuse had been Millie Thompson, and after the conversation she'd just had, she had better find a reason to spend at least a half-hour with the other girl.

Which could make for one incredibly unpleasant half-hour, if Meryl were still keeping vigil.

Elizabeth tried not to square her shoulders as she picked out the appropriate patient room, and the doors opened as she approached them.

- . -

**Author's Note:** Sorry this second half was so late! It was ridiculously hard to write, for some reason, and real life snuck up, clobbered me over the head, and went through my pockets for all my spare time. :slightly dazed: It's also by far the shortest of the chapters, but I promise it was all necessary. Isn't it amazing how little I can actually accomplish in so many words?

To my new readers, welcome! Thank you all for the lovely reviews. You guys are too wonderful, and I appreciate every one. And that thing you're all going to hate me for is not going to happen for at LEAST five more chapters. Stupid me thought that I'd be finished with this thing at fifteen chapters . . .


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- . -

"Dr. Greer just checked in." Terry scrolled down, his PDA emitting little clicks as it acknowledged each tap. "It confirms her account. His report states . . . there was a mechanical malfunction with one of the – the hydrating tubes." He almost winced at the stutter. "He's corrected the problem and the production Plant is settling back into normal production patterns."

His master made no move to stop, and after a moment Terry determined the older man had heard him and was deep in thought.

As well he should be – losing the production Plant would mean the ship would be without a main power source, unless the installation of G-101B was stepped up. That was a risky prospect in itself; no one was soon to forget how violently G-101A had worked to try to break the bulb, its first day there. The Angel had nearly succeeded with strength alone; if it hadn't ripped out most of the temporary stitches and bled to unconsciousness no one had had any doubt that it would have eventually succeeded.

A Plant that could shatter glass designed to absorb even kinetic energy by striking it.

And G-101B wasn't in nearly as poor of shape physically, and had the added innate ability to manifest metal. Had they not stripped G-101A of all the implants, he didn't doubt the Plant would have ripped open its own chest cavity to free a piece if it meant destroying the bulb.

If G-101B awoke and realized where it was, they could consider the bulb as good as shattered. Not to mention Dr. Greer and Dr. Shrew had both laid out their plan to more gently bring out the change from a humanoid Plant to its true form, and Knives was nowhere near far enough on that journey to produce the kind of power the ship was accustomed to using. Many of the core processes would have to be shut down for days, and should G-101A use that opportunity to try to escape, their final containment strategy would be rendered useless.

"Did the good doctor indicate what caused the mechanical failure?"

Terry brought his mind back to the task at hand and scrolled quickly through the rest of the report. "Corrosion," he replied, then frowned. "Though he added that he checked the maintenance logs and no corrosion had previously been observed."

The commander of the New Kennedy continued with measured pace towards the lift, his face and shoulders relaxed. "Well, that answers that," he murmured softly. "Were any of Ms. Boulaise's party allowed in that wing of the ship?"

Terry clicked out of the report and pulled up the travel logs for the party. He'd been anticipating requests for regular reports on their whereabouts, so had created a query group just for them. He'd already customized the views to his master's preferences, and was able to tell the answer at a glance.

"No, sir," he replied. When the commander didn't respond, Terry continued. "Aaron Carter came the closest, accompanied by Lt.s Stalworth and Minsky, about six hours ago. They entered the main control room and remained for seven minutes."

The commander's voice was worryingly mild when he spoke again. "Who authorized that visit, and for what purpose?"

This time Terry had to go hunting for the daily reports made by the soldiers that had been assigned babysitting duty. By the time he located the proper information, the lift had already returned, and they both stepped inside.

"Lt. Stalworth authorized the visit, for the purposes of . . . consulting." That was a nice spin to put on 'receiving a recommendation.'

"I see."

Terry marked the report to read later, and closed the document viewer on his portable computer. "Would you like me to arrange a meeting with General Phillip?"

His master shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Have any of Mr. Carter's recommendations been implemented?"

Terry didn't have to look to answer. "Yes. None of his suggestions to the computer systems have been taken, but other, less significant recommendations were evaluated by Captain Faber and put into effect."

"I'd like a complete list of all of those modifications to our security since their arrival. Also, schedule a conference with Captain Faber."

Terry immediately moved to do so as the lift stopped, and followed exactly two strides behind as the commander purposefully stepped out.

"What does Dr. Shrew have on her schedule today?"

Another quick tap, and he viewed her calendar. "She's currently scheduled to be testing G-101A in the electromagnetic imager."

"And when are those tests scheduled to be completed?"

He tapped the appointment. "Another two hours."

His master uncharacteristically frowned.

"I believe it's the first time she's been able to use that equipment on the Plant since it was removed from the test environment," he added. It was extraneous information, something he usually didn't volunteer, and he almost held his breath as he waited for a response. They were nearing the commander's private quarters, and the imposing man's pace never slackened.

"Have we any updates on her progress?"

He shook his head. "She hasn't filed any new articles since about four hours prior to the Plant's attack on the civilian doctor." He hadn't really read them, either, though he was sure the commander had. Most of them seemed to be data-gathering-related. She seemed to sense his patience with her project was starting to waver, and rather than attempt conjecture she was merely amassing as much data as she possibly could, to be analyzed at a later date.

Commander Gray sighed, a little regretfully, but still didn't slow. "I suppose she's earned her research time. Send a priority message. She is to euthanize the dying Plant at the conclusion of the current tests."

Terry penned in the quick message, tying it to the commander's digital signature, and waited for the ACK to bounce back.

Just in time. They reached the commander's quarters, and his master finally paused as the door silently opened. He regarded Terry, and the younger man met his gaze squarely.

"If the Plant hasn't been destroyed in four hours, notify me."

"Yes sir."

- . -

She walked forward, waiting until the doors had closed behind her before allowing anything remotely like surprise to be visible.

This was . . . unexpected.

Millie Thompson looked up, straight at her. The young woman's eyes seemed a little unfocused and more than a little dilated. Her hair was clinging in unbecoming clumps to her face, which was slightly streaked, as though she'd been crying. Her expression, which was also surprised, didn't look as though it quite belonged to her facial muscles.

She was in a typical patient robe, otherwise uncovered, and had kicked the light blue blanket into a ball around her feet. Her hands balanced on her thighs as though she'd been scratching the daylights out of them. They had been rubbed raw, and it occurred to Elizabeth that that was the first time she'd ever even seen them bare.

Other than the huge bed, a somehow smaller-looking Millie Thompson, one extremely tense Meryl Stryfe, and a chair, there was little else in the room. A dark disc in the ceiling indicated the monitoring equipment, and beside the bed were a few machines, one feeding her fluids and two others apparently monitoring her vitals. There was only one door, the one behind her, and no one else was in the room.

Meryl was seated stiffly on the edge of the great mattress, to Millie's left, and her expression was guarded. Not outwardly furious, but certainly not welcoming.

Millie didn't immediately cover herself, which Elizabeth would have expected, but instead stared hard at her. Trying to remember who she was, maybe?

"Hi, Millie," she said evenly. "How do you feel?"

Millie beamed, and again, there was something not quite . . . something missing. "Oh, I'm feeling fine, Miss Elizabeth! Thanks for asking!"

No slur. No speech impediment whatsoever.

But hadn't the reports said brain damage? Clots? Unconsciousness, loss of memory, loss of motor, speaking, and cognitive skills? The woman had just said her name, so she was obviously able to collect and properly analyze the data coming in from her eyes and ears . . .

Elizabeth finally broke eye contact to stare incredulously at Meryl. The tiny woman was dressed as she was, in a borrowed, light gray civilian uniform and matching boots, and Millie's reply didn't seem to faze her.

Obviously they'd been having a conversation when she'd so rudely entered.

Elizabeth noted that Meryl did not seem to have a PDA. So the tracking device was in the uniform, somewhere. They'd have to at least locate them before they did anything else-

"That's wonderful, Millie," she replied, still staring at Meryl. "Meryl, may I speak with you a moment?"

The brunette clearly considered saying something spiteful; it was obvious the way her eyes flashed. But instead, in a very civil tone, "There's no need. Whatever you need to say can be said in here."

Elizabeth let her own eyes narrow. Considering the woman was an insurance investigator from one of the most renown insurance brokers on the planet, it was astonishing how unworldly she could be. Elizabeth glared pointedly at the camera in the center of the ceiling, not surprised to see it was active. "I didn't realize Millie would be awake, and we wouldn't want to upset her in her condition." Which was more mystifying by the minute, despite her unfocused eyes she was blinking and shifting like a normal person –

"Doc told you, too, huh?" Millie asked sadly. Elizabeth glanced at the larger girl; she had started rubbing her legs again.

"Eh-heh, she says the darndest things sometimes, doesn't she?" Meryl even leaned slightly into Elizabeth's line of sight to try to pull her attention away.

What the hell . . .?

"The audio has been disabled," Meryl added, with a trace of smugness. But, again, less than she would have thought. Considering their last conversation had been anything but civil –

"Is there something you needed, Elizabeth? A list of Vash's close friends so Commander Gray can send his little soldiers to go eliminate them as well?"

Ah. That was more like it.

Elizabeth contained her sigh. She'd anticipated anger, certainly, and would not be offput by the other woman's attitude. From Meryl's point of view, she deserved it, after all. She'd given Commander Gray the information he'd requested almost immediately, and she'd given him accurate information at that. The compromise between the twins, Knives' plans for his sister Plants, the whole soufflé. At the time it had been necessary, and she didn't regret a word of it.

It would make their escape a little more difficult, certainly. Getting out wasn't going to be their main problem. Not getting caught again was. Despite her bluff, eventually the commander and his team would locate Eden. It was exactly what she said it was – a patch of green on a brown planet. She'd given him accurate logistical information, as well; if he actually did defeat whatever Knives had put into place to protect the freed Plants, there was nothing stopping him from putting them back into their bulbs.

She could only hope that the resources he had would be spent locating those Plants and making contact with the cities, rather than hunting down five civilians that couldn't stop them anyway. The best they could do was go to the Feds, but without any real incentive to switch to solar or fusion power, such as Vash the Stampede destroying the remainder of the fifth moon, she didn't have much faith that the towns would keep their solar modifications. They'd go back to what they knew. The Plants.

They were minor in the grand scheme of things, and that might be the only thing that saved their skins.

Millie shook her head, apparently in disapproval of Meryl's words, but didn't say anything. Instead, she started rotating her feet at the ankles. It looked like she was warming up . . . they were letting her walk around? Wouldn't that just dislodge the clots faster . . . ?

"I'd really prefer we speak in the hall," Elizabeth insisted pleasantly. Just because some nurse had told Meryl they weren't listening to her didn't mean it was fact. If Dr. Shrew had seen Millie's mouth open, she could guarantee it was all being recorded for posterity. Surely the doctors didn't realize Millie was . . . well, almost fine. Otherwise there would have been three whitecoats in there and she'd have already read the report of why the girl had been accompanying Knives on his rampage through the ship. "We really wouldn't want to trouble Millie with business talk-"

"I became an insurance investigator on my own merit," the tall girl said crossly. Whatever her expression lacked, her voice did not. She was having no problems producing the right tones of voice. "And you're not here to talk about the policies on the converted plants, anyway. So just spit it out."

Meryl's face took on a very odd expression, half-defeat and half something else. Elizabeth barely registered it. How on earth could Millie . . . well, perhaps it wasn't so hard to guess. Meryl's involvement at this point was extremely limited to nothing at all. She honestly wasn't sure what would happen to the two girls if they left them there, but she doubted they'd be allowed to return to Bernardelli. They might be allowed to send reports, however . . .

It didn't matter. If Meryl was wrong, and the audio hadn't been disabled, they'd said too much already. Now, more than anything, they needed speed.

"We need to leave," she said without preamble. "As quickly as possible. Millie, I didn't expect to see you . . . looking so well, but I'm glad." If she were mobile, it made things much easier. Mobile and coherent . . . maybe Dr. Shrew had gotten it wrong. Though it wasn't too likely that anyone that had managed to do what she'd done to Vash would get something as mundane as human brain damage wrong –

"Well, great minds think alike!" the other girl chirped. "Do you know where Mr. Vash is? And do you have access to the room where they're keeping the bulb Mr. Knives is in?"

What?

"We don't have time," she started. "And we can't transport Vash – he's not stable."

Millie opened her mouth, but Meryl cut her off. "Where is he?"

Where wasn't hard to guess. "Here," she said simply. "Probably undergoing more tests. I heard that he stopped behaving like a Plant after he went after Doc, so I imagine the only reason this room isn't swarming with astonished doctors is that they're all cooing over their current test results. It doesn't matter," she added. "We'd never be able to get to him. And even if we could, we can't transport him. We don't have the proper equipment."

"We're not leaving him," Meryl said firmly, and behind her, Millie's face crumpled slightly into a weird amalgam of resolve and sudden tears.

Could Aaron and Sunjy convince them or maybe drag them . . . no. If Stryfe and Thompson didn't come willingly, they'd never be able to get out. She didn't want to leave them here, but –

"Fine. Rescue him yourselves," she snapped, and was pleased to see Meryl bristle. Millie just looked even sadder. "The only thing we have going for us is that Commander Gray will be more concerned with recovering the freed Plants than tracking us down. Speed is imperative. How fast do you think you can run with Vash over your shoulder and an entire shipful of guards shooting at you?"

The smaller girl got to her feet, not an angry springing, but a slow and deliberate motion. "Is Vash going to live?"

That was a billion double-dollar question. "Not if we yank him out of medical care and throw him in the back of a truck for a two-day drive across the desert, no." Probably not even if they left him here. Even if he was completely stabilized, the experiments Dr. Shrew would perform in an effort to further her research would probably prove too much for his already taxed body. If he woke up and realized that Knives was a production Plant –

He still had the capability to destroy, just like he'd done with July. That he'd attacked Doc, of all people –

Too much of a risk. She wouldn't agree to transport him even if they had the run of the ship for an hour. And to hell with Knives, she was astonished Millie would even ask. Didn't she realize he'd been the one to hurt her? Had he somehow brainwashed her, was that why she'd been his backup?

"I think I'd prefer to hear that from Doc," Meryl answered evenly.

Doc. They still had to get Doc.

Actually, that was fine. The two of them visiting him would seem fairly normal, and put them in an excellent position. If most of the infirmary staff really were gathered around Vash – no, they'd have to confirm that.

Or arrange it. That could make things even easier still.

The door behind them slid open, and Elizabeth's heart sank. She half-turned, absolutely certain a bald headed, fifty year old man was about to walk in flanked by two guards. That the audio was off really had been too good to be true, but even that was acceptable so long as they didn't figure out what Aaron had done –

"Oh, hello, Miss Boulaise," a kind voice greeted. "I didn't realize you were here."

There was only one silhouette in the doorway, that of a young man in a labcoat, holding a black leather pouch in one hand and a penlight in the other. She didn't recognize him, but Meryl immediately plastered a smile on her face.

"Sam, wasn't it?"

He nodded, excusing himself past them into the room. "Our patient here needs a checkup, and it looked like you were on your way out . . . ?"

Elizabeth merely smiled. She'd been standing out of the range of the camera, but obviously they'd been watching it if they'd seen Meryl get up. Still, it was too good to be true. They really didn't have the audio on? Even though they could see that Millie was speaking? Or were they really just not paying attention?

They didn't know that Millie _could_ speak, did they? Surely the commander wasn't withholding the report detailing Millie Thompson's obvious partnership with Knives. Then again, what would have made the girl protect him rather than shoot him? Surely there was no real merit to their conjecture that Knives and Millie were a couple. Surely they'd just drawn that conclusion from the fact that Millie Thompson regularly wrote him letters. Just as they thought Vash and Meryl had been lovers at one point – and frankly, they at least honestly could have been – it was clear from the last articles she'd read that they were writing Millie's involvement with the storming of the ship off as an act of loyalty, love, worship, or some twisted combination of the three.

She hoped it was merely telepathic or telekinetic control, maybe the inhibiting of his powers had caused the damage in her brain rather than an honest attempt to kill her –

But no. He'd been strangling her at the time. Maybe that had been for show, to see if he could use her as a hostage?

"Of course," Meryl was saying. "We were just going to look in on Doc, since Elizabeth decided to grace us with her presence." The last was delivered tightly, and Elizabeth had to give the other woman props for appearing to be very nearly concealing extremely anger. Anyone watching would think she was trying to be civil just for civility's sake.

Sam the nurse was no exception. "Of course. He's resting, but a few minutes wouldn't hurt. I'm sure he'll be glad of the visitors." He continued into the room, coming to sit on the edge of Millie's bed. The girls both hesitated as he reached for the blanket.

"Were you thinking about going for a walk, Millie?"

The tall girl gave him a dirty look, but said nothing, and after a moment he gently covered her back up.

"Maybe you were just too hot," he offered kindly. "I'm going to give you a little shot, and you're going to get really sleepy. It's okay to go to sleep, okay?"

He unzipped the black leather pouch, and Millie alternately stared at her folded hands or glanced at the pouch. Meryl was standing in the doorway but made no move to exit, and Elizabeth waited patiently as they watched the man administer the injection.

Millie flinched but otherwise didn't really react. For about seven seconds.

Then she relaxed back into the pillows behind her, and Elizabeth realized she was unconscious.

What the hell were they playing at? They'd give that strong a sedative to someone in her condition!

Then again, just what _was_ her condition?

"Are you sure that was wise?" she asked, letting a little disapproval tinge her voice. "I thought her condition was fragile."

He had pried up one of Millie's eyelids, and was shining the light into it. "It doesn't matter," he said truthfully. "She's a time bomb waiting to go off. The clots will move when they want to. She could run a hundred iles and then come home and have a stroke watching paint dry."

"Will she wake up?" Meryl's voice sounded strained.

"I don't know," he responded, still not turning to them. "To be honest, it's a miracle she ever woke. When you get back from visiting your friend, hit the call button and I'll come down and show you some restraining techniques. The best we can do for her is try to prevent her from moving around or getting upset. A sudden change in her blood pressure is the most likely culprit to move the clots."

Meryl swallowed, loudly enough that Elizabeth could actually hear it. "I will," she agreed. Then she turned on her heels, without another word, and strode out of the room. She never looked back.

Elizabeth followed her out into the main hall, where she stopped. Apparently she had no idea which room Doc was in. Elizabeth hit the release button on her belt clip, and the PDA slipped out and into her hand. Private Asouard had sent her a message with his room assignment . . .

"You're just settling right in, aren't you," Meryl observed tartly. The halls were empty, and they were one part of the ship that was not constantly monitored. All the interesting stuff happened in the theaters and observation rooms, after all.

"Would you prefer we were both in your position?" she retorted, finding the message in the list and tapping it to make the details expand. "Being useful has kept me alive. You should consider doing the same. I didn't think . . ." She winced at what she'd almost said. "It hadn't occurred to me to hope that Millie would be coming with us. This changes things."

Meryl was quiet, and Elizabeth stowed the PDA back onto her belt. "He's in Observation two."

The women headed there, surprised it was so close to Millie's room, relatively. It was astonishing to think that a Plant had been releasing such dangerous amounts of energy outside a bulb and there had really been nothing between them and it.

Him.

God, she was thinking of Vash as an it.

They entered the room shoulder to shoulder, again noting the lack of attendings. Clearly something was going on, if Sam had been in such a hurry to knock Millie out and they were allowed to wander the main Infirmary hallway without a guard. Then again, perhaps that was because Meryl wasn't allowed to leave Millie's room and she was no longer escorted. Did they think she would prevent Meryl from misbehaving?

Or was that another test of the commander's?

This room was significantly larger than Millie's, and had more equipment. Besides hydrating lines and the standard monitoring equipment, the wizened old man was half-swallowed by a large silver cube, transparent on two sides. Inside of it, they could see the oddly smooth stump of his arm, and the pale, somehow too-thick looking skin that covered it. Shining steel hands, complete with three fingers, moved deftly over the limb remnants, probing and testing the synthetic skin they'd grafted onto him.

Even above the grafts, she could see angry flesh, and the blackened, painful blotches that only came from Plant radiation. It wasn't the first time she'd seen those types of lesions, but she couldn't muffle her shocked gasp.

Why would they have left any of his arm? Didn't Dr. Shrew know what radiation damage was? Was she trying to one-up the doctor? Since his sweeping rescue of Vash from the brink of death after they'd extracted him, perhaps she'd been feeling a little insecure in her talents, and had gone out on a limb? Literally?

Not that it mattered. Without this level of medical attention, he could well die from that injury. And there was no telling what it had done to the rest of him. She half expected to see more equipment, more fluids, but outside of the normal bags and a very small one with a light yellow liquid, there was nothing. Nothing to indicate massive organ failure, extreme pain, or most of the other symptoms.

Maybe Vash hadn't really gotten him as badly as it had looked?

Meryl had obviously never seen anything like this. Rather than shy away, the woman approached his side, openly staring. His eyes were closed, and his breathing steady, but for some reason Elizabeth wasn't really sure he was unconscious.

Damn. She'd been hoping he was better off than this. She should have known.

Assuming Millie could walk, it might still work. Sunjy could carry Doc, Aaron could help Millie and she could probably wrestle Meryl if she had to. It was cutting it awfully close, though. And this was all assuming that they were able to find the vehicle depot, since Knives had done her the favor of blowing her jeep sky-high . . . of course, there was always the truck the maniacal Plant had arrived in . . .

"Hey, Doc," she said softly, and wasn't surprised to see his eyes slowly open.

Meryl jumped a little at his sudden awakening, but then smiled warmly. "Long time no see," she added, and he smiled.

"Good afternoon, ladies." His voice was rusty from disuse, but not as weak as she'd expected. "Or is it evening? I have difficulty keeping track."

"Late afternoon," Elizabeth supplied, coming around to his other side. She'd seen grafting equipment, after all. She accompanied all her injured men to the nearest and best medical facilities, regardless of time or priority of the project that had injured them.

"Millie's exactly like you said she'd be," Meryl said without preamble, and Doc smiled wanly. He also caught her eye, and Elizabeth merely nodded, once, like she was trying to adjust the high collar on the skin of her neck.

It was obviously enough of a signal, because thereafter he ignored her.

"I'm sorry, Meryl." It sounded sincere. "I know it must be hard."

The smaller girl rested a hand on the empty bed where his arm should have been laying. "I think she tried to get up earlier, but Sam came in and sedated her to give her a checkup."

Doc just nodded, and Elizabeth remained quiet. So they'd obviously had one of these conversations before. Why had Doc known that Millie wouldn't be as badly off as he and Dr. Shrew had originally decided? Had he lied, to give himself a little ace-in-the-hole? And if he could figure it out, why couldn't that woman –

Because Shrew was busy with Vash, she thought with a start. She was just distracted. As soon as she stopped paying attention to him and started paying attention to Millie-

Damn. She should have stayed in the room and distracted Sam. The entire point was to pull attention away from themselves, not towards them.

"I know they'll tell you to limit her movements, that it will be bad for her condition," he murmured after a time in his rusty voice, "but don't fight her. It will just make things worse."

Elizabeth cast around for a container, locating one on a wheeled tray against the far wall. She headed towards it as they continued their conversation.

"So when she wakes up, I should really just let her get out of bed if she wants?"

"Within reason, my dear Ms. Stryfe. Don't let her run up and down the halls."

Elizabeth carried the cup to a sink in the corner, filling it with the cold tap before returning to his bedside. He nodded his thanks and accepted the straw, drinking deeply.

"Ah, thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I'd like to say it's a surprise to see you . . ."

She just smiled. "I'd like to say the same. I heard the scuttlebutt – are you going to be all right?"

He nodded, taking the straw back into his mouth again before releasing it with a nod. She set it within easy reach of his left hand. "I'll be fine. I could probably turn off this grafting machine now, actually. It isn't as bad as it looks."

"The burns look pretty extensive," she insisted, and he shook his head.

"More heat than anything. He wasn't able to focus properly," the old man muttered. "It isn't my first Plant burn."

"Most people can't say that," Elizabeth reminded him lightly. Surely he couldn't be telling her what she thought he was . . .

He shook his head with one of his wavy smiles. "When you get to be my age, there's very little that hasn't already happened to you once or twice."

"Most people don't get to be your age," she teased, and he chuckled lightly. It petered into a cough, but not a particularly deep one.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of such lovely company?"

"We got kicked out of Millie's room, remember?" Meryl said it lightly.

He nodded. "Ah, of course. So as not to witness the cursory attempt at tests. I imagine Sam's done by now."

Elizabeth blinked. "But he just started . . ."

Doc nodded knowingly. "Ah, but do you hear that hum, Miss Boulaise?"

Both she and Meryl froze. The ship had a hum all its own, the vibrations of the power running through the walls and ceilings. The overhead lights were also buzzing slightly, but he was right – there was something very low, like a large truck passing in the distance.

"That is the sound of an electromagnetic imager," he spoke into the silence. "I imagine it indicates that Vash stopped hemorrhaging energy after his attempt at communication."

"Communication?" Meryl's voice continued to sound strained.

"Just so, Miss Stryfe," Doc reassured her. "It is my guess he is trapped in an unnatural state between that of a conventional Plant as we know them, and his humanoid state. Vash was never meant to be put into a bulb, or to generate that kind of power. And he was never meant to stay in a state of transition between the two for longer than perhaps a few minutes." Doc swallowed, but shook his head slightly when Elizabeth moved for the water.

Obviously this was for her information anyway, not Meryl's.

"As such, it's likely he has no coherent idea of what's going on. He may not even remember who he is. He was confused, and in pain. Plants communicate by telepathy, and his was being inhibited, so he tried to bridge the gap, so to speak, by touching me." The old man winced slightly, as though in memory. "His hand was a bit warm, though," he added regretfully.

Elizabeth just nodded in sympathy, but her thoughts were elsewhere. So she was right. They were all crowded around Vash, getting test results. Most of the ship's security would be combing the ship looking for evidence pointing to foul play concerning the corroded tube - Dr. Greer had sent her his report, and it would explain the weird readings. It would be hard now for the commander to conclude he didn't have a traitor on board, and she was fairly sure he now had enough information to know it wasn't her people.

Maybe Knives really had been able to damage the production Plant's bulb telekinetically, but why he'd threaten the Plant's food, so to speak, was the weird part. Even if he had been responsible for the data deletion, this problem with the production Plant was too far-fetched to be explained away by Knives. Clearly there was something else going on, and it was just the distraction they needed.

They wouldn't be able to get Vash out. Not now. And Doc had probably been trying to say without saying that Vash's chance at the life he used to have was all but gone. Meryl hadn't broken down yet, so obviously the shorter girl was taking something else from his words, but Elizabeth was pretty sure she hadn't misunderstood.

But he was telling them they had a chance to get out of the infirmary altogether without anyone really noticing.

"How long do you think they've been at it?"

"About an hour, I think," he replied diffidently. "They can only keep the machine running for another fifty or so minutes, tops. After that, I imagine Dr. Shrew will retire with the data and start her analysis."

"Do you think they'll let – let anyone see him?"

Doc looked back at Meryl, then shook his head slowly. "I doubt it, my dear," he responded apologetically.

Meryl just looked away, the hand resting on the mattress curling into a fist.

So she'd figured it out too. Doc was telling them to forget Vash and get the hell out.

"Is it hurting him?"

Elizabeth looked back up, almost glaring at Meryl before she decided to soften the look. She'd like to think that he was going to die peacefully in his sleep, too, but reality was that it wasn't going to work that way.

"Oh, no," Doc reassured her hastily. "No, it's a method doctors use to get a picture of what patients look like inside without having to cut them open. It uses magnetic fields to penetrate the body and based on how those fields react, a computer generates a picture of what's there."

"Magnetic?"

He frowned deeply. "They removed all the implants a long time ago, Meryl," he explained patiently. "And if they missed one, this procedure would have removed it for them."

She just nodded, keeping her eyes downcast. "I . . . guess I just wanted a chance to say goodbye." It was almost a whisper.

It was also far too honest to be something Meryl would say. Elizabeth assumed a sympathetic look, and turned back to Doc.

He'd caught on as well; it was obvious in his pained expression. Having this conversation, knowing it was being recorded even if it wasn't being currently watched, was difficult. They were having to say so many things between the lines, and there was no way to really know if they were all on the same page.

"I don't think you'll get that opportunity, Meryl," he said, not unkindly. "But if you do, take it."

Take it. If they could get Vash out, do so. But how? He was going to be surrounded by at least ten medical personnel. Then there was the line of soldiers that were probably stationed on this floor, just in case the Plant managed to escape or someone managed to help him do so. After that, they had to make sure they had control of the lift without their tracking badges – and then it was just a footrace to see who could get to a vehicle first.

Well, he probably weighs less now than he did, she thought cynically. Still.

"So, Elizabeth, I assume you're a part of the project to introduce Knives to a bulb environment?"

She smiled a little, refocusing her attention on him. "More like an observer," she admitted with a tinge of self-deprecation. "Currently he's still sleeping off the inhibitors. Dr. Greer is planning on starting the stimulators in a few hours to encourage the physical changes while Knives is still in a coma."

Doc just nodded. "To prevent the power production inconsistencies they saw with Vash," he muttered. "They really think they can get a production Plant out of a humanoid one, don't they."

"They can," she said simply. There really was no reason to think that Knives wouldn't be able to produce the power that one of his 'sister' Plants could. They'd have to find a new calibration standard, and re-write all the charts, but the Gate was present in both types of Plants. That Gate, whether it tied to a different dimension or not, and thus got around physics as they knew them, was the same 'type' in either Plant.

He chuckled mirthlessly. "I wish everyone would stop forgetting their personalities," he murmured. "There's no guarantee that, if the process is taken at a more controlled rate, that Knives won't retain more of who he was."

"And no guarantee that he won't revert to the nature of other Plants," she countered.

To which Doc just continued to smile, cryptically. "Would you want to be the engineer working on that bulb, Elizabeth?"

The answer was self-evident – no. She wouldn't go near Knives as a production Plant. She wouldn't stay on the same half of the hemisphere if she could help it.

. . . was he telling her what she thought he was?

"I'd prefer it to drinking tea with him," she retorted, and Doc laughed.

"Very true," he agreed. "Still, as long as they've already lived, I wonder what a humanoid Plant's lifespan in a bulb would be. Vash and Knives are the antithesis of their sisters in every way. Freeborn to contained, curious to introspective, the compassionate, giving female to the violent, exploring male. Do you really think Knives' hatred will allow him to survive the next hundred years of drain?"

"I suppose we'll find out, if we survive the next two weeks," she quipped. What was he trying to tell her? That it would be a mercy to kill Knives rather than leave him here? What the hell did Doc think they could possibly do? They were four mobile people, including the possibly resisting Meryl, and two wounded ones. An army with four guns was going to storm an entire ship?

Sure, Aaron had tied enough 'recommendations' together to hide the only one of real import, but that was lift control. He'd given them the way out, a key to the back door, so to speak. Getting to the lift was going to be their main problem, and a stop by the cold generation room was not on the way. And smuggling Vash out besides . . .? Everyone single one of them would be carrying someone!

Although, if Vash had stopped showering everyone with Plant energy, they might be able to forgo the suits.

No! This was ludicrous! It was a bad enough plan as it was, and –

And they'd have to leave Vash. She'd already come to terms with that. He'd want it, he'd willingly, even forcefully sacrifice himself if he knew it meant their freedom. And there was no doubt they were quickly wearing out their welcome on this ship. This was a matter of life and death, or at least quality of life. He would choose this if he had the choice.

Of course, his life was a series of piss-poor decisions, starting with not clubbing his brother over the head and beating some sense into him when they were kids, culminating with making such an open-ended promise to said brother. Vash's decision-making process was not the most rational on the planet.

Elizabeth sighed, trying to hide her inner confusion. Dammit, she'd made this decision already, there was no need to hash it out again and again. "You look tired, Doc."

He nodded. "Yes, I think I'll have a spot of nap. It's been a while since I've really slept, you see. Exciting times." He turned to look at Meryl, his eyes soft and friendly. "As for you, my dear, you take care of Millie Thompson. Have faith in her. I'll visit you when I can."

Have faith in her . . . to pull through? Or to . . .

To do something.

To do what? Had Knives . . . made an alternate plan? On the off chance his storming of the ship failed, that he might have communicated to Millie Thompson? Was that why it was so important that no one know she could speak? Was that why she was in the unlikely condition she was in?

But what on earth could the Plant have done that would make someone with apparent brain damage be apparently unaffected? Transplanted her real brain somewhere else? Picked a human that didn't use her brain anyway?

Transplant her brain . . .

Elizabeth blinked, struggling to keep her nonchalant look. Slightly more active brainwaves than they'd thought. Her concern that Knives was already communicating telepathically with the production Plant. Millie's ability to analyze and correctly identify signals coming through to her damaged brain.

What if she wasn't doing the analysis?

She glanced at Doc, surprised to see him watching her, almost expectantly.

"Too exciting, actually," he murmured. "There used to be an ancient earth saying – may you live in interesting times. It was actually a curse, for change creates tragedy as well as wonder."

Change. Change creates tragedy and wonder.

He changed her brain. Knives changed her. The change would kill her eventually, but it would allow her to function.

Knives' brain was doing the calculations for Millie's. The damage was the result of some kind of telepathic tampering, probably because he'd been inhibited at the time. Currently, he was laying in a bulb, crunching the numbers like a processor because he'd wrecked Millie's ability to do so on her own. Even though he was in a drug-induced coma, he was thinking for her.

She was his backup plan. Millie was the one he was counting on to free him. That was why she'd wanted to know where the bulb was. That was probably why she wanted to free him in the first place.

So would she have the ability to use skills that he normally would? Did Millie now have the capability and intelligence of Knives? Or at least the ability to access it? If she had Knives' knowledge of the computer systems, then –

Then anything was possible. They could do anything. They could take her to a terminal and shut the entire ship down if they felt like it. In minutes.

"Interesting or not, last I checked people still need sleep," she reprimanded. "Rest. We'll come check back with you in a little while."

He just nodded, apparently satisfied that he'd given her enough information, and closed his eyes. Meryl was watching him, her own eyes slightly narrowed but her expression calm. How much of that had she picked up . . . ?

When Meryl's eyes met hers, she could see the resolve in them.

So she'd caught enough.

She'd realized they could possibly pull off rescuing Vash.

They needed to get back to Millie, and wake her up. They didn't have much time.

- . -

**Author's Notes**: Look! Forward motion of the plot! Go me:is pleased: Again, I have no beta-reader, so if you noticed anything wonky, please let me know. And thank you thank you thank you for all the lovely reviews! The last chapter got five all by itself! I can't believe you guys are still reading this monster . . . but it makes me a happy camper indeed. Thanks, you guys. And girls. And others.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Author's Notes at the bottom.

- . -

The little boy was gone.

So was the older one; only iles and iles of coarse remains met her searching eyes. The ash-choked wind seemed darker, and colder somehow. Like the heat it carried was hollow, only a memory of warmth.

There was more smoke in it, now, and it was blocking out the twin suns. Perhaps night was approaching, or had already settled.

She held a hand over her eyes, not to shield them from blinding light but rather to prevent her hair from crawling into them. Perhaps the change in temperature had caused it, but the wind was tugging more emphatically on her than before, and as it carried so much earth, it was getting harder to make out clear outlines.

She was no longer on the outskirts of the great mass of rubble. The ruined city, presided over by the giant, shattered plant. Now she stood in what had possibly once been the center of the great structures. The plant was much closer, almost directly overhead. The small, cracked bed of the inner bulb was still intact, rather amazingly given the size of the debris the wind now tossed. There were just as many flashes of lightning as before, and just as silent, and she could see the bed of glass was empty.

Had the boy rescued his brother? Had she helped? Or had she left them again?

She frowned, rubbing her face with her hand only to smear freezing sweat and dirt. Her hair, no longer held back, immediately flew forward and glued itself to her skin. Trying to tuck it behind her ears did her no good, as this wind wouldn't permit it to stay there, and eventually she gave up fighting with it.

She needed to find something she could use to tie it back. And then find the boy.

And ask him what had happened, that this world had become even more empty than before.

A quick search at her feet found that she was actually standing not on flat earth, as she had imagined, but the roof of some building. Or perhaps just the still-intact ceiling of some chamber; it was hard to tell if the complex but somehow frighteningly organized paths were hallways or narrow streets. She could have been standing in the half-cleaved skeleton of a great ship, or the center of a ruined, compact city. Whatever was beneath her foot had been polished coarse by the sandy wind and long dulled by the cloying filth of the smoky atmosphere. It was impossible to tell if it was metal, wood, plaster, or stone.

Curious, she bent at the knee, noting her feet were still bare, and the oddly unfamiliar blue jeans constricted around her hips uncomfortably. It was hard to move in these clothes, though she supposed they were comfortable enough for standing around or laying about. Neither was an option for her at the moment, and she pulled her fingertips across the scabrous surface.

It was colder than her bared toes indicated, and quite hard. Not likely to collapse or chip away anytime soon.

But she still couldn't tell if it was stone or metal. It was far too dense to be plaster or wood.

She remained crouched, another large crag to her right creating a little lee to escape the direct gale. Without a constant point of light, it was impossible to determine direction. She'd have to use the wrecked plant as her marker; none of the other debris was recognizable, nor did it seem to stand out as a monument quite as much. She was fairly sure no matter how low she climbed into these ruins, she would always be able to see that plant.

If the plant was the center of the . . . city, of sorts, then she should probably start her search there and go out in straight lines to the very edges. She would use the protruding remainder of the inner bulb as an arrow, pointing north. In that way, she could orient herself and search the area by grid.

She frowned again, wrapping her arms around her violently dancing white shirt. Of course, what was she looking for? A way out? The little boy?

How had she come here? And how had she left before?

Lightning flashed brilliantly, almost directly above her, and she flinched. There were plenty of lightning storms, she knew all about them. Whenever there was lots of sand in the air, it caused static electricity to build up. It usually sought out tall things, like steeples, metal rods on established buildings, or people standing in the center of fields or dunes.

Perhaps standing on a flat sheet of something she wasn't sure wasn't metal wasn't the best place to be.

She blinked, and considered her thought for a moment. Sempai would have given her that blank look if she'd heard it-

. . . sempai?

She could see the woman clearly; short, black hair almost the same color as her own, a crisp white uniform, somehow she seemed small of stature but huge in presence. She seemed completely familiar, as though she saw her every day.

She also didn't associate the woman with this desolate, arid place.

Because – because there was something outside of this place. The place she went when she wasn't here.

The wind kicked up, throwing more earth into the air, and the edges of the city began to become even more indistinct. She cried out, stumbling in her crouch as she was buffeted, and for some reason she couldn't seem to catch herself –

She landed hard, and awkwardly, on her left shoulder. Her head and ear struck the ground solidly, and for several seconds she was unable to do anything more than lay there, gasping. Sand and dirt crawled in with every breath, and the very air tasted burnt. Warmth pooled around her ear, and she shakily reached up a hand, touched it.

When she withdrew her fingers, they were dry. No blood.

It rang alarmingly, though, as she tried to sit up, wincing as she looked around. She'd been blown clear off the roof – or ceiling – into one of the many pathways through the debris. Openings yawned darkly in the high walls of the corridor, and in both directions it went on for several yarz before branching off to the right and left.

Her left hip popped unpleasantly as she picked herself up off the chilly ground. It was wearing a deeper carpeting of sand than the level above, but even so was too hard and too even to be well-packed dirt. Perhaps it was bedrock? Most of the cities had to be built on it so they didn't sink, or become a sandworm's next meal. Unless it was another level of metal, from the wreckage of a ship –

The wind howled overhead, evidently not pleased it wasn't able to push her around as easily in the narrow avenue, and the high walls seemed to press in on her. She wasn't tall enough to catch the lip, even if she jumped, and while their had been no end of fairly large pieces of rubble lying around above her, this corridor was absolutely clean of any obstacle.

The openings on either side of her seemed to be haphazard; there was an uneven number of them and they were not arrange symmetrically along the length of the walls. All of them were equally dark, however. She picked one at random and peered inside, hoping to find an intact piece of furniture, or at least something, to give her a leg up and –

But somehow she was staring at a pair of wooden double doors, instead of coming through them. She was in a well-lit, cool office, leaning comfortably against a heavy oak desk. Beside her was a man – no, a body, sprawled face-down. Blood pooled around it, but there was no danger of the liquid getting on her turquoise and white bodysuit.

The doors pushed open, as she knew they would, revealing a sight that made her heart ache just a little. A joyful smile, one she hadn't seen on his face in ninety years or more. The same hair, they'd both kept the same haircuts even after all these years.

It was amazing how quickly his expression changed. His mind was still intact, still agile; agile enough to come to the conclusion that his happy jaunt to July hadn't ended the way he'd hoped it would.

And that was important. That was the first lesson.

Time to move onto lesson two.

She smiled, and raised her hand in greeting to his suddenly uneven gasps.

"Hey there, Vash."

He began to weep, and said nothing.

"Now everything that joined you and Rem together is finally gone." Spelling out the obvious was a little gratuitous, but her brother was really quite thick-headed, and a little emphasis couldn't hurt.

The effect was immediate; his chin dropped, and some of the shock faded into anger. Real anger.

"Is that your excuse for killing?" He was still crying, but his voice had steeled. Of course they'd have to go through this again . . . she inwardly sighed.

"Haven't you learned anything over the past hundred years?" She stood, leaving her fingers brushing the surface of the desk, and faced the window.

"The scars they carved into your body will never regenerate." And how she would make them pay for each and every one, even if he was still too brainwashed to do it himself. "Symbolic of your foolish waste of energy on this human garbage."

"Regardless of how you feel about them, they are living beings." His voice shook, though not with weakness. "They deserve to live!"

Her patience snapped. Obviously she was going to have to escalate the situation to force him to new ground, otherwise he was going to parrot back _her_ words all day. "What's the use of growing up if the only thing that grows is your useless sentimentalism!" She turned back to glare at him, finally letting her frustration show. "You're still a good for nothing, pathetic wimp!" As she turned she raised her gun.

It wasn't really her gun; she'd taken it off a human on her way in. It had been more than sufficient to kill this last link to Rem, and though it was nothing like the gun she'd fashioned, the gun that Vash was just now realizing he needed to draw, it would still be sufficient.

She fired almost lazily, though to his credit Vash was moving quickly. He was still too shocked, too caught up in his ridiculously misplaced emotions, and neither barrel was even raised to eye level before her bullet found its mark.

With a cry Vash was propelled backwards, slamming against the joint of the far wall and the floor a full second before his left arm – and her gun – clattered to the ground about two yarz away.

She began to stride forward as Vash curled over himself, clutching the remainder of his arm and shoulder. He still held his gun, the one she'd made for him, in his right hand – perfect. She stopped her advanced, reached out with her mind, and snapped her fingers.

The casing of that modified Colt leapt off the barrel as though it had been magnetically repulsed, and the cartridge – part of one of their sisters – began to crackle as it resonated with the Gate within Vash's remaining arm.

"Wh-what the hell is that!" He sounded terrified.

She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice; after all these years, was it possible that he _still_ didn't know? "This is our _gift_, brother! Now it's time to take out this worthless human garbage forever!"

Another mental nudge, and his arm transformed, absorbing the gun into itself as his Angel Arm began to manifest. He screamed; she knew it hurt, it had hurt like hell the first time and the second hadn't been so great, either. It was a much greater pain than a bulletwound. She would know. And part of her ached to see him there on the floor, howling as he felt his powers for the first time, but the rest of her was still appalled that it _was_ the first time.

Vash couldn't stop screaming, but he did do something unthinkable. Struggling every step of the way, and physically countering her helpful telekinesis, he slowly raised the cannon, so that it was aiming – out the window?

No. He was aiming it at her. Or at least, trying to.

"Are you going to shoot me again?" He wouldn't dare. He would not _dare_.

She tried to strengthen her telekinetic hold on Vash, but he was shielding – when the hell had he learned to do that? If he knew how, why hadn't he been doing it from the start? He was fighting her with raw strength and he was _winning._

"Are you actually GOING TO SHOOT ME AGAIN?"

Behind the arm, his blue-green eyes burned with pain, with loss, betrayal, and – and hatred.

She couldn't stop him. He was too far along the charge, now; if he didn't release the energy his Gate would collapse in on itself and take half the planet with it. She put every ounce of her power into her telekinesis, shouting with the effort, but there was –

White light shown brilliantly, there was a strange sensation just below her belly –

She staggered backwards, suddenly enveloped in black, and belatedly she realized the broken shrieking still echoing in her ears was the wind.

She caught herself in the slightly better-lit corridor, feet hissing through the sand, and stared at the doorway. Her breaths were coming in gasps, and she had both arms wrapped quite firmly around her stomach. It was still there, her legs too, but she was sure that beam of energy had cut her in half –

What . . . what was that? Who had that man with the spiky hair been? Her brother? Or . . . or the little boy's brother? Was that what had happened while she'd been gone?

There was no hint of that terrible, destructive power in the doorway; it stood forlorn and absolutely lightless. She stumbled backwards away from it, turning to the other side of the alley. Another ingress stood, slightly less square than the first had been, and just as dark.

Should she . . ? But she needed to get back on top of these buildings, so she could at least see. A glance upward still showed her the plant, and she hesitated. Did she really need to go up higher? Did she really want to risk running into that blonde man again?

And why, immediately after she had seen him, had she thought and said those awful things?

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat. She'd said that everything tying him to Rem was dead. Didn't that little boy, the one she was looking for, call her Rem?

And hadn't he said that he had killed her?

But how could that be? How could she be Rem, and be dead, and be talking about herself? And if that . . . that body had been someone that had known her, why would she have killed him, have hated the very sight of his blood . . .?

The wind shrieked above her, but this time it couldn't touch her, and she ignored it.

That was impossible. She couldn't be Rem. The little boy must have confused her with the woman he said he'd killed, the woman who had had ties to that dead man.

Had the little boy grown up to be the man with the spiky hair?

But it was the wrong color. The little boy's hair had been such a light blonde, almost snowy. The spiky hair –

Vash. She'd called him Vash.

The Stampede, her mind wanted to append. Sempai had denied it –

Rock clinked against rock, and something made her duck away from the doorway she'd been contemplating. Just in time; a shoe-sized chunk of the wall tumbled down where she had been moments before.

Her stomach clenched in fear, but it was almost instantly replaced with anger.

"You leave me alone and let me remember!" she shouted at the spiteful piece of rock. If a rock could glower, this one was. It was rather silly, to shout at a rock, and to say what she had said. But somehow, it felt completely right.

It was like this ruined city didn't want her to remember what was outside it. Who she was when she wasn't here.

Outside of here there was Sempai, a woman who was her friend. And there was a spiky blonde man named Vash the Stampede. And he was the brother of the little boy. His was the shape she had seen silhouetted in the broken bulb. And he had been searching for connections to Rem. And she was supposed to be Rem.

Only she wasn't Rem. The little boy had just mistaken her for the other woman. Maybe the other woman had been a black-haired woman who wore loose white blouses and hip-hugging blue jeans and walked with bare feet. Maybe that was why he'd been confused.

He'd been afraid that his brother had been sick. She'd agreed to save his brother, and to not abandon him. Rem had apparently made the same promise.

The whole story sounded so familiar. Like she already knew it, she'd put these puzzle pieces together before. It was like a dream when you had a cold; your brain was frustrated because it was uncomfortable and so in your dream you kept playing chess, only you had too many bishops and the rooks moved like pawns, and no matter what you did you couldn't move them on the appropriate squares because the squares kept moving –

The wind was positively roaring now, and the sky had blackened almost as dark as the ingresses around her. She couldn't even see the ends of the hallways, anymore, and reluctantly she moved back towards one of the walls. She could try to feel her way down to the corridor and take a left, and forget about trying to get up to the next level – the wind would just knock her back down anyway. It was foolish to think of the wind as angry, but it sounded furious with her.

"I'm sorry!" she shouted at it, in the hopes it might calm down. "I just want to find the little boy!"

She waited a beat. Then another. The wind didn't die down. The sky didn't lighten. Maybe it's night, and this weather is natural. She needed to stay on this lower level until morning came. She'd be safe down here, so long as she stayed as far from the walls and falling debris as possible. She reached out blindly, arm outstretched as far as she could make it go, and started walking to her left. Her hand met solid wall, and she dragged her fingertips along it, still walking left. Left was away from the bulb, and she would follow her plan of locating the outskirts of the city. She continued for a few steps, stretching her utmost while keeping the barest possible contact with the wall.

It wasn't long before the rough wall suddenly vanished. Another door. She didn't enter the opening, instead continuing forward and letting her hand pass through space.

Fingers wrapped around it, warm and firm, and tugged.

"You . . . you came back . . ."

- . -

"But this is . . . is . . ." Candice trailed off as she fought for the correct word. "How could they! Now, when you've done the impossible and we're getting good, solid data –"

She didn't miss the placement of the pronouns, nor the compliment, but she cut the girl off anyway. Such reckless words. They'd gotten spoiled in the last year by the general. While Candice was relatively new to the concept of military science, she herself had been part of the military for quite a long time. Almost since birth, considering she'd probably attended more of her father's functions by the time she was one than her research assistant had her entire life.

"I expected that order hours ago," she said briskly, watching as a perfect, highly detailed scan came up. She rotated it, just to ensure the three dimensional image was really intact. "The Plant should have been euthanized the moment it attacked."

The other girl remained silent a moment, and Dr. Shrew ignored her, zooming into the frontal lobe of the brain. While its general shape didn't seem to have changed, the activity was spread throughout and an odd amalgam of Plant and human characteristics. The scan had done a fairly complete job of recording that, and she cleared the file and waited for the next to compile.

"But as head of the research division shouldn't that be your call?"

"Security of the ship," she responded automatically. "The breach indicated a level of threat that might not have been contained. It is the commander's responsibility to guarantee the safety of the crew, and this research is threatening that."

Not anymore, of course. Now the Plant was actually incapable of generating that power, the most obvious visual confirmation being that its arm had shrunk by about an inch. The fingers were still a bit long, but Gate activity had reached an all-time low. Without the electrodes directly attached to the Plant's arm, they'd never be able to detect it at all.

She could rail at the unfairness of the order all she wanted, but the fact was she had to obey. 'At the end of the current tests', though, could be interpreted many ways. She was scheduled to keep working on the Plant for another hour, but if the tests she started at ten minutes till ended up taking her a bit past that schedule . . . it looked as though she had a little room to wiggle.

Of course, an hour and a half wasn't enough time to get solid data on anything about the Plant, so she was now trapped in determining which tests would prove to yield the most useful data. She'd gotten all the biopsies and tissue samples she could during the transformation phase, and even dead the Plant would still be viable for a short time. The autopsy, of course, would be a good time to dig into the organs, so she should probably concentrate on results that required brain activity.

As relating to what, though? Life functions she'd recorded. Without actually analyzing the data she'd already gathered, she had no idea which functions to study on a closer level. Basic life functions that remained the same immediately after birth and throughout life . . . she had cells multiplying in petri dishes in the incubator down the hall, specifically paying attention to the types of energy the mitochondria were producing and what types of materials those cells were consuming.

Outside of cellular mitosis and respiration, what else would be the same in an infant Plant and an adult . . .?

At what point did the Plant's body reach maturity, and what marked it?

Nerve cell caps or bone. Bone would survive longer in a cadaver than nerve cells, so nerves it was.

Dr. Shrew repositioned the equipment, this time settling not on the regenerating stump but the full arm. She'd been studying the scar tissue for about twenty minutes, and they had a good idea how it was being produced so quickly. Or, at least they'd run the right tests. Looking at the nerve cells in that arm would probably give her an incorrect reading, considering the ends would be new and there'd be no age-damage to the protein caps.

They knew generally when this Plant had come into existence, but not how long it had taken to get to full maturity. The protein caps on the nerve bundles should give an indication of when the nerve cells themselves had stopped growing.

Candice watched the imager reposition, and she readied the next template for data input. She didn't ask what they were looking at, and Dr. Shrew didn't volunteer. Part of the learning process was coming to your own conclusions, and the young girl obviously needed a little less hand-leading and a little more mental exercise.

"How long do you think you can delay them?" she asked in a small voice.

"Perhaps a half-hour," the doctor responded, then frowned. "How long do you estimate it will take to analyze the data we've already gathered?"

The girl started inputting dates, patient IDs, and observer names into the template to prepare it for the data dump. "Decades," she finally answered. "I just . . ."

So she, too, was becoming emotionally attached? Dr. Shrew restrained a sigh. She'd fallen into the same trap; nothing else explained her actions immediately after the Plant's return to consciousness and breaking of quarantine. And the Plant was contained, and was not nearly as much of a threat as it had been when they'd first removed it from the bulb. Part of her wanted to question the order.

The rest of her knew better. She was lucky she hadn't been placed on administrative leave for that lapse in judgment. And she was merely waiting for the meeting invite to appear on her schedule. There was no doubt, when the saboteur was found, that the commander was going to interview her. She'd placed all of them at risk, including her other patients.

Dr. Shrew glanced at the overhead monitors, noting the two women were leaving observation two. She hadn't even bothered to listen to their conversation, too wrapped up in ensuring the mechanism was working to one hundred percent efficiency. If she only had an hour and a half to complete data collection for her project, that was all she had. The good doctor had quite a few painkillers pumping through his system, and was in no position to advise or consult. Not that she would prefer him to; this was a simple exercise in basic research protocols, and nothing else.

A glance at her other patient's room revealed exactly what she would have expected; the young woman was in a moderate state of unconsciousness. Her current test results had shown an increase in the intracranial bleed, which had been a little unexpected. She'd have thought the majority of the damage had already been done, but apparently the pooling blood was still causing damage to the tissues surrounding it. She'd ordered the administration of a clotting agent, to stop the hemorrhage, despite the fact that it would only contribute to the clots already present.

Part of her simply wanted to know if the girl would wake again. That she could move as well as she seemed to with such damage . . . it was probably an journal article in itself, and she was glad she'd assigned Sam to continue recording. Apparently they hadn't gotten much audio, at Meryl Stryfe's request, but she'd corrected that oversight. If the girl woke again, they could at least get a proper recording of her articulations.

Any other time, it would have been a fascinating case. She wondered when they'd get the resources to actually look into it. Likely not until the woman was long dead, but at least they didn't have to wait for Millie Thompson to stop emitting equipment-damaging energy when they wanted to get a glimpse of her brain.

She pulled her attention back to the screen as the machine began creating a three dimensional image of the nerve bundle she'd chosen to study. They'd need to get two more, one in a leg and the other near his brainstem, in order to make sure their results were consistent. That would probably take about forty-five minutes, and also use up the majority of her time.

"I wish we had time to let it wake up," Candice finally finished her thought. "I wonder if it . . . would talk to us again."

Dr. Shrew raised an eyebrow, glancing at her student. "Are talking Plants such a novelty to you?"

Candice ducked her head. "I . . . I'd like to ask it questions. What it remembers of maturing, of its mother . . . all the psyche write-ups on Plants are so conjecture-based."

She resisted the urge to shake her head. As if the Plant would be any more objective than a regular human.

As if this Plant would be any more sane than a regular human, after all this.

- . -

Meryl stared at Elizabeth, watching the engineer's eyes shift as her brain started calculating all the aspects of her plan to escape.

Or her plan to prevent their escape.

She had considered not suggesting they see Doc, but she needed to hear it from him. That Vash was going to die no matter what they did. He'd known what had happened to Millie the moment he'd looked at her test results, and he'd lied to Dr. Shrew. Meryl trusted him to also have as accurate a grasp on Vash's condition.

And he had all but said the same thing Elizabeth had. That she wasn't going to get a chance to say goodbye.

But if she did, take it.

Vash, her Vash, he was long gone. Nothing about him had been recognizable in Hondelic. If only she'd read the damn letters, gotten over her stupid pride and just read one, she'd know, she'd really, honestly know –

Was Doc telling her that Vash was going to die, or he was just never going to be the same?

And if she got a chance to find out, take it. So he wasn't sure, either way.

And the rest, with Millie . . . what she wouldn't have given to hear him just _tell her_ something. Damn the recordings, just give her an answer she didn't have to extrapolate! He was telling her that Millie was somehow connected to Knives. That was why she could talk, she could think, she could . . . could pick people's thoughts out of the air.

But Knives had screwed up, hadn't had enough time to finish whatever it was before he'd succumbed to the gas. He'd screwed up, and he'd hurt her badly. And so now she was in some halfway point between braindead and – and Stun Gun Millie, Gung-Ho Gun number fourteen.

It explained almost everything. Why Millie had reacted so badly to the news that Knives was going to be installed in a bulb. Why Millie had tried to strangle her the last time she'd woken up, mumbling about her 'brother'. Her insistence that they save Knives was programmed into her, and there would be no dissuading her.

And yet, some of the things she'd said, they sounded just like her. Importance of family. Concern that her own disappearance had upset her 'sempai'. Those were things Knives would never say, would never want one of his lackeys to think or feel.

And he certainly wouldn't want his lackey to be teetering so precariously between life and death.

How was he doing it? Wasn't he in a coma? How much effort did it take him, anyway? What if – what if there was a distance restriction, and taking Millie away from this ship would make her worse?

And what _was_ worse? Was Millie going to die or not? Both doctors acknowledged physical damage to her brain. It would never heal, it would never go away, and they couldn't fix it. Could Knives? If one of the clots moved, and Millie had a stroke, could Knives prevent it from having any real, debilitating effect on her?

But how? Could he . . . heal her? Could Plants do that? And if they could, why hadn't Vash healed his own scars?

But Knives healed himself after July. Vash had told her that much, before he left to meet his brother. And if Knives could, _would_ he heal Millie? As a reward for her good work in freeing him?

Just before he went on his genocidal rampage, that Elizabeth said Vash himself refused to interfere with?

God. Was that the choice? Millie or the entire world?

Obviously freeing Knives wasn't an option. Did she trust this ship and its crew to take the threat of Knives seriously, keep him contained, in that bulb? Then, even if there was a distance restriction, even if Millie couldn't leave the ship, at least she could still . . .

Could still live.

And Meryl wouldn't leave her.

That left her still wondering whether Elizabeth was honestly trying to get them out, or she was simply trying to act as the catalyst that revealed their escape plan to Commander Gray.

Meryl continued to stare at the engineer. Her words seemed to echo in her ears. Being useful has kept me alive. Terry's admission that Commander Gray was dangerous. Was she really not seeing the whole picture? Were their lives really in danger, the longer they remained on this ship? These people still considered themselves part of the Earth military, held to the high standards their military had been for centuries. Surely they weren't just going to come in here and have them all executed. That was ridiculous!

But . . . what if it wasn't?

The engineer seemed to focus on her for a second, and Meryl finally broke eye contact, patting Doc gently on the chest before turning back for the door. If Sam was done, she could do her thinking beside Millie as easily as here.

She heard the other woman follow her out the door, down the hallway. Their boots clicked on and off unison; Meryl was taking two steps exactly in time with every one of Elizabeth's. She was having to take two steps to keep up, a pace she couldn't maintain forever.

She was Meryl Stryfe. She didn't sit quietly. She acted on what she believed in.

Maybe Terry Asoaurd did know her. Better than she knew herself.

Meryl, get a grip, she snapped at herself. She was letting everything happen around her without having any input. She'd been doing it ever since Vash came back and -

Meryl blinked, fighting an audible gasp.

Oh my god.

It was exactly right. She'd been waiting for Vash to return to the town, return to her, and she'd never stopped waiting.

There were, and had been, important decisions to be made, and she was in a holding pattern, waiting for something to happen.

Well, it happened, she snapped at her brain. And here it was. Trust Elizabeth to get the rest of them out? Trust Elizabeth to take care of Vash?

Could she trust this woman with something that important? Was that what Doc meant when he said she wouldn't get the chance to say goodbye to him? Because he knew she'd choose to stay behind with Millie?

She turned, the door opening automatically as she approached it. How did they sense her, she wondered. Was it something on the uniform? She recalled seeing the commander, and guards before him, touching buttons on their collars –

She reached up, idly, and fingered the button that held the bottom corner of the collar security to the main body of the fabric. Was it a button, or some kind of device? Was it capable of recording what they were saying? Did it help the computers track her whereabouts in the ship?

They'd have to do something about that, if she wanted them to escape.

She suddenly wished she'd seen Sunjy or Aaron, and could ask them. They'd be working for Elizabeth one way or the other, but she wondered what they wanted.

And what Millie wanted.

She took her place, on the edge of the mattress, and picked up Millie's hand. It was warm, still had blood flow. The hard work she'd done all her life had left calluses, particularly on the thumb-side of her index finger, where the trigger cage of her stun-gun rested. Then there was the index-finger side of her middle finger, where her pens rested as she wrote. Her thumb itself was almost rough to the touch, but the rest of her hand –

It was so soft. It reminded her of her mother's hand.

Millie would have been an excellent mother.

She smiled, a little sadly, at her own thought. That she didn't really believe that Millie was ever going to be a mother. Even if she stayed on this ship, even if Knives kept doing whatever it was he was doing –

Even if she stayed here, Millie would constantly be trying to free him. They'd have to keep her under lock and guard, or maybe – maybe they could just trust Meryl to keep an eye on her.

Or maybe they'd just lock them both in cells to prevent them from causing trouble, and ask them to write reports to Bernardelli from time to time.

Is that the life Millie would choose, if it were between that and – nothing?

Meryl started as she realized Elizabeth was on the other side of her, leaning in to closely inspect the sleeping woman. She looked just like she'd looked before; peaceful, but with that little, frustrated pucker between her eyes. She said she didn't know what Knives had done, but if he was somehow in communication with her –

But he _was_ in a coma, wasn't he? She had no idea how telepathy worked, but if they'd given him inhibitors, didn't that mean his telepathy was inhibited? Obviously they worked, because he'd been unable to completely control or brainwash her, so . . .

So if he was inhibited, and he needed contact with her to . . . to think around her damaged brain for her, then . . . how did that work? If he couldn't use his telepathy, shouldn't she be exactly the way Sam and Dr. Shrew thought she should have been?

"Don't touch her," she heard herself snap, as the woman extended graceful fingers towards Millie. The very last thing she was going to allow, escape plan or not, was anything that would make Millie worse than she already was. God only knew how the other woman would be when they got her away from Knives' influence, but anything she could do to protect her friend, she would.

God. They were going to use her to get off this ship, just like Knives was using her now. There was no difference between Elizabeth's intention and the homicidal Plant's. Both of them just wanted out, and Millie Thompson was their ticket home.

But she was more than a ticket. She was a woman. A strong woman, capable – at least currently – of making her own decisions. And this would be a decision that Millie would make. They didn't have to wonder. She was still in there, she was no slave of Knives. At least not completely. She would explain to the other girl what had happened, let her know that Knives might be somehow influencing her, and ask her to make her own decision.

Though it wasn't difficult to guess what that decision would be.

The engineer gave Meryl a very thoughtful look, and it burned her. How dare that woman look at her that way. That woman, that sold out Vash to keep her own skin intact. That dared to insinuate she even thought she'd been right to do it. That it put her in some elevated position. That cooperation had gotten her farther than resisting. Wasn't she just as much a prisoner as they were? What had all her information gotten her but still in a position she felt threatened her life?

Could she be trusted? Had she really started this entire adventure with the intent of finding Vash? Or had it all been a bid to stop Knives, and here was the woman's dream come true? A world without either plant? A world where July could never happen again?

She felt for the engineer. She really did. It would have been horrible, to see your parents die before your eyes, leaving you alone in a quickly encroaching desert. Seeing how terrible adults could really be, having every stable fact of life shattered in mere days. Knowing that one man was responsible, and there was nothing in the world to stop him from doing it again.

Nothing but his own heart.

If she allowed Elizabeth to leave with Vash, how much of a chance was there that the Plant wouldn't end up with a bullet in his head less than an ile into the desert? How likely would it be that she wouldn't leave him to die without a second thought?

"We have to wake her up, Meryl. We don't have time-"

"She'll wake up on her own." She'd always woken violently, and Sam had told her that changes in Millie's blood pressure might dislodge the clots, which meant a stroke, which meant –

Which meant she'd be that much worse when they got her away from Knives. If she chose to leave.

Would letting Millie . . . do something, when she woke up, would that help or hinder her? Doc said that fighting with her would be worse than letting her walk around, but obviously Sam disagreed . . . But Doc wouldn't ask her to do anything that would make Millie worse, would he? He wouldn't be that desperate to get out of here –

He wouldn't simply use her, as Elizabeth was doing. As Knives was doing. He wouldn't sacrifice what life she had left like that, would he?

It didn't matter. It was Millie's decision. One she could make up when she woke up. If she woke up again.

That was a big if, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, Elizabeth was right. They had a forty-five minute window before the tests on Vash would be concluded. At that time, Dr. Shrew might take her attention off him and take an interest in the last tests they'd run on Millie. At that point, there was the chance that she would come to the same conclusion Doc had. It probably wouldn't happen instantly, but . . . it would happen.

"How quickly do you think Dr. Shrew will figure it out?"

The engineer was obviously holding onto her impatience by a thread. "Quickly enough. We only have forty-five minutes-"

"I know what he said," she interrupted dismissively, and was glad to see the other woman's eyes flash. "She won't figure it out instantaneously. Millie will come around on her own. Startling her will only raise her blood pressure, which will move the clots-"

"It doesn't matter if it does or not," the other woman snapped. "Knives is processing stimuli for her. She can literally be rendered almost braindead and she'll still be capable of using the computer systems. Weren't you listening?"

Meryl cocked her head to the side, slowly. "We're not taking Knives with us," she said, as slowly and evenly as she could. "I assume Millie will get worse the further she gets from him. I don't want her any worse than she already is."

Elizabeth blinked, taken aback either by her manner or her words. But only for an instant. "We're not leaving Knives here," she replied, as though trying to explain a difficult concept to a simpleton. "Recapture immediately after escape is a huge worry, and we can eliminate it now. Don't you get it? If Millie has access to Knives' skills or memories through their telepathic link, we can take over the ship."

Meryl tried not to gape at her. "Who cares about taking over the ship? All we need to do is get Aaron, Sunjy, and Vash, and get out! There's no reason to make this any more complicated than it already is!"

"We can uninstall their production Plant. Without a main power source, they can't contact their satellites. They won't be able to locate Eden. Without either Knives or Vash in custody, they can't prevent the current power project from continuing. They'd be back to square one."

But why would she insist on taking Knives along? Why not –

Oh. Because they'd turn him into the production Plant.

"You were the one that said with such surety that Knives would wipe out the humans if freed, and Vash wouldn't stop him."

Elizabeth just shook her head slowly. "Meryl, Millie won't agree to help us unless the plan involves freeing Knives. And if she's – she's as perceptive as she usually is, she'll know something's up as soon as we agree. Just leave Knives to me."

Meryl blinked. Was Elizabeth saying she was going to kill him?

Don't think about it. The thought flitted across her mind like a moth caught in an updraft. She was being vague on purpose because she didn't want Meryl to know the plans. And Millie would pluck them right out of her head if she thought about it. Stop thinking about it. Just let Elizabeth take Knives out of the bulb, and worry about what to do with him later.

If nothing else, they could put a bullet in his head an ile out into the desert.

Then again, Elizabeth might be planning on setting Knives free.

She discarded the notion immediately. No. Elizabeth might be driven by a desire to stop either twin, but she certainly wasn't going to help the one that had caused July in the first place.

"Let me be perfectly honest." It wasn't as though she could prove Elizabeth wasn't lying –

She could. She could just as Millie.

Elizabeth waited patiently as Meryl fought with herself. No. She wouldn't exploit Millie's new talents. She'd always had a good eye for liars, she was an insurance investigator. She could trust her own intuition on this one.

"I can't trust you anymore." It didn't get much more blunt than that. "Give me a reason why you'd want to save Vash rather than see him dead."

Elizabeth did a very good job of not changing her facial expression. "Because he's my friend. Because he's right about the exploitation of the Plants. He saved my life, even if he was indirectly responsible for killing my parents. And I think he would kill himself before he'd allow it to happen again."

All of it was true, but it was so easy to say.

The engineer suddenly smiled. "I don't begrudge you your distrust. I've certainly earned it. But if we're going to pull this off, we need to work together. If I think Vash is too far gone, and might threaten another city, I'll shoot him myself. But until then I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. He did for me."

Behind them, the doors slid apart.

Meryl tried not to jump, and also tried to hide her reflexive reach for her nonexistent derringers. Damn. She never should have left the nurse alone with Millie. Had Sam already figured it out?

But there were no guards, no guns. Terry Asoaurd stood in the doorway, holding nothing more threatening than a rectangular, folded yellow envelope.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," and he sounded honestly apologetic. "I've got the documents you requested."

Meryl just blinked at him, mind blanking. Documents . . . ?

Oh.

She slid off the bed, pasting a smile on her face. Did he know what he'd just interrupted? "Thank you! That was . . . quicker than I expected."

He smiled as he handed her the thick envelope. "No problem. I did the best I could." He looked past her, nodding politely to Elizabeth. "Ms. Boulaise," he added in greeting. "I don't know if Dr. Greer briefed you, but –"

She just nodded. "Yes, I heard it was a corroded line. It's a good thing he found it when he did. If that Plant had gone out of control . . ."

The private just nodded, and Meryl tucked the envelope into one of the internal pockets of the uniform. Another sign, Nicholas? she thought to the air. You want me to trust her?

Not that her imagined indications from the dead priest had gotten her anywhere but almost totally screwed.

Private Asoaurd just nodded, looking upwards as if imagining the worst. "Trying to step up G-101B's installation would certainly be a problem," he commented. Then he squinted.

"It looks like Dr. Shrew has finally taken an interest in her . . . less threatening patient," he commented, a little sadly.

Meryl blinked at him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand . . . ?"

He nodded up at the camera. "She's taken away your privacy," he said quietly. "I hope you said whatever it was you needed to, unless you want it recorded for posterity."

Meryl couldn't help a glance over her shoulder, looking at the dark disc in the ceiling. It looked the same as it always did, a little blinking light showing that it was on. But had the light always been amber . . .?

Elizabeth moved subtly by Millie's side, but remained silent.

He brought his gaze back to Meryl, and his eyes were very sad. "I'm very sorry," he said, softly enough that she wasn't sure Elizabeth could hear.

Oh shit.

The audio had been on since they'd been in the room.

He wasn't here to deliver the documents. He was here to tell them their plan was up.

He correctly interpreted her silence as shock. "It's the most humane thing to do," he added, in what he probably hoped was a reassuring voice. "All of her preliminary data reports that it's suffering."

. . . what the hell? What was he talking about?

Was he talking about Vash?

"I have to go," he said suddenly, interrupting her sudden intake of air. "I need to check in with Dr. Shrew. If she's already moved on to checking Ms. Thompson's test results . . . Just . . . I'm sorry." Before she could even get a word in edgewise, he'd spun on his heels and begun to retreat.

"Wait! What do you mean?"

He didn't stop. He headed out of the room without a second glance, shaking his head. Probably growling at himself. She started to follow him when Elizabeth spoke.

"Meryl, wait."

She hesitated, letting the doors close behind him, and didn't turn.

"But-"

"We need to wake Millie up. Now."

Meryl slowly turned. Had he said –

It's the most humane thing to do. It was in pain.

He was sorry. Sorry that something was going to happen to Vash when Dr. Shrew was finished with the tests she was running. Only he didn't know that the doctor was actually still running tests. He figured if the audio features of the surveillance had been turned back on, it meant that the doctor was finished with Vash and had moved on to Millie.

When Dr. Shrew was finished with Vash, she was going to . . . to what? Put him in permanent cold sleep? Kill him?

Oh, god. They had forty minutes – or less – before Dr. Shrew would no longer be able to use the imager thingy. If she even bothered to use all that time on her research.

And if the audio was on, and there was anyone actually listening to it . . . like Sam . . .

"You're right," she agreed. Oh, Millie, I'm so sorry . . .

The engineer had the good sense to wait for Meryl to walk back to the bedside. Millie looked so small against that huge white pillow. So pale, still.

She gently brushed the other woman's cheek with the backs of her fingers, and the furrow between Millie's eyebrows deepened.

"Millie? Millie, it's time to wake up."

- . -

**Author's Notes**: Yes, you expected something to actually happen, but instead, you got introspective!Meryl. What were you thinking, that I'd actually get to the action? Silly readers. As I always say, any questions brought up in this chapter will be spelled out in later chapters (the question of Millie talking while Knives was completely inhibited will be answered next chapter, actually. I promise.)

However, if you see any plotholes, please point them out? I'd really, really hate to miss one, and I'm counting on all you folks to be my betas! I recently discovered the Stats section of this site, and I was astonished that this thing has gotten almost three thousand hits! (And my Bleach series, **Afraid**, which I finished ages ago, has gotten triple that. Holy buckets!)

Thank you folks so much for the reviews and the support! And remember, if you see anything amiss, please don't hesitate to let me know! If there's something you'd like to see out of this monster, let me know! If there's something you think could be better, let me know! And thank you for letting me know that you're enjoying this fic as much as I am. ; )


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end. Contains actual action.

- . -

Meryl touched her so gently.

It was nothing more than a brush against her cheek, hardly enough to disturb the soft flesh of the woman's face, tickle the fine hairs. It should have had no result; hadn't Meryl seen the kind of sedatives Sam had administered? She was about to turn on her heels to consult Doc on counter-drugs when Millie Thompson's already troubled expression settled into almost a glower.

Where was she, when she was sleeping? Normally a person's mind was their own, but with that link to Knives . . . did her expression reflect some kind of struggle? Her words, her tone of voice sounded precisely like the Millie she had met before, albeit a bit grumpier. And grumpy was a strange adjective to apply to what was possibly the most chipper, cheerful person on the planet.

Elizabeth paused, watching as Meryl reached out again, gently stroking the other girl's cheek.

"I have to ask you something important."

Millie didn't seem to care terribly, but there was no doubt her sleep state had lightened considerably.

Elizabeth was no doctor, but a sudden resistance to sleep-inducing drugs didn't seem like such a good sign. While she might have access to Knives' skills, the engineer really doubted he'd gifted her with the Plant traits of a high metabolism and quick healing.

Of course, the entire appeal of a Plant was that it could bend the rules of physics as they knew them. The Gate, the source of the energy, the ability to mold it into finished, working, mechanical products . . . maybe Knives could give Millie those traits.

Maybe what Dr. Shrew had mistaken for brain damage was simply Millie's brain in the process of converting into a Plant's.

But that was just wishful thinking. At the time Knives wasn't releasing any of the types of energy needed for synthesis. Humanoid Plants didn't run around with a trail of produced goods laying out behind them. They did, however, seem to leave inordinately wide swaths of destruction.

And now is a pretty inopportune time to contemplate the creative or destructive forces of Plants, she chastised her wandering thoughts. Once Millie was up, they'd need to get her to the nearest console . . . which was out in the main Infirmary hallway. Then they'd need her to hack the system before any of the extremely vigilant techs or programmers noticed.

Time for Sunjy to stop operating under the radar.

Elizabeth released the latch on her belt and the PDA fell into her fingers, a now-familiar weight. She would miss this ease of communication, but she couldn't risk taking this technology back with them. Even without a production Plant they'd still have their backup generators and batteries – actually, it might be good to drain most of those as well. Something that required a lot of power but wouldn't accomplish much. Boosting the internal magnetic fields, perhaps? Looping processor diagnostics?

She quickly typed a message to Sunjy, adding Aaron to the Cc: line. It would be a little suspicious, but there was no way she'd get away with sending two communications. That secretary of the commander's was probably reading every one before allowing the servers to forward it.

Sunjy;

Staying in the main infirmary with Stryfe and Thompson for the rest of the day. Get me numbers on stress tests involving Plant radiation in relation to suit temperature. Thompson woke up, but she's not talking.

- E

She'd like to be able to say that it was a carefully designed code, but the fact was Sunjy was going to have to extrapolate. She hadn't asked him to look up anything useful in a few days, and he knew damn well that Aaron had been successful in getting the lift override configured. He'd easily figure out it was a request to cause havoc.

They'd just have to make sure they could get him out of harm's way before anyone else caught on.

And Aaron would realize it was a summons – that was the only reason he'd be copied.

If they were right, and Millie really could do what Doc clearly thought she could, what would be the best way to handle everything? Ideally, knocking out the crew, but there was no way to do it. Containing them was the next best idea, but any containment would eventually be overridden. For the short term, they could lock down everyone in a chamber easily enough – it was a spaceship, after all. It was designed that way. But that didn't help them with the crew that would be in the halls.

How best to minimize that traffic? Start up a siren for battle stations, or a preemptive warning that prisoners had escaped? Fake the escape of one of the Plants?

Of course, they'd also need to leave the pathways to both the production Plant and the cold generation room open. And they couldn't take care of Knives until they were literally off the ship. Once Millie put the last sequence of commands into motion, no matter how much she protested it they could do with Knives as they liked. However, leaving him on the ship, even dead . . . their medical science was better than anything she'd ever seen. The idea that they could keep Vash alive through all this . . . leaving even an intact corpse was probably not a good idea.

What if they could . . . somehow copy him? Grow another Knives? Hadn't that Plant survived July, when no one else had?

Shit. They'd need to take all the data and the tissue samples Shrew had taken from Vash, too.

Elizabeth straightened her tangential thoughts with practiced ease. Big picture was to lock down the cabined crew, immobilize the crew in the halls, and take down the Plants. They didn't have Vash to carry the production Plant, so whoever uninstalled her would need a suit. There should be two hanging in the staging room. Knives hadn't been given the stimulants yet, and even if he had a single dose was unlikely to have considerably changed him yet. The initial data on Vash indicated even if they'd optimized the drug application it would have still taken over 24 hours. And Knives seemed less willing to capitulate than Vash did, so she could expect him to fight just as hard.

So no suit needed for Knives. And they'd have to tote him far enough from the ship that his body wouldn't be found. So drugs to keep him under. And any medicines Doc thought they'd need to keep Vash under wraps until –

Until they decided what to do with him. Until Doc figured out whether he could help or not.

Elizabeth glanced up as the bedsheets shifted with a soft hiss. Millie groaned into her closed mouth, but still refused to open her eyes.

"I know you're tired, Millie, but it's important."

They couldn't retreat to Doc's ship. It would be the first place the soldiers would look. And apparently they had a pretty extensive groundforce still out and about, if they had people already stashed in the majority of her plant crews. Hiding in one of the cities with a patient like Vash . . . not only would it be almost impossible to hide him, it wouldn't be safe for the city.

They'd have to go to Eden. It was likely there wasn't much in the way of medical supplies there, but at least it was out in the middle of the desert. If anything did go wrong, the worse Vash could do was blow them all to smithereens and maybe take another piece of moon with him when he went.

Millie Thompson rolled her face slightly away from Meryl's touch, clearly trying to avoid it. Meryl was not so easily offput, and again, Elizabeth regretted her harsh words. She didn't want to see Millie any worse, either, but the last thing they could afford was Meryl coddling the woman. It was pretty clear now that Millie's previous comments hadn't just been her usual, unnatural perceptiveness.

Millie had taken the thoughts right out of her head. Or asked another telepath to.

How else would she have known the exact excuse the engineer had come up with? And how else had Knives still be able to process thoughts for Millie completely inhibited? He had been absolutely still under the effects of the inhibitors the first time she'd woken, even if he wasn't now. If he was incapable of using his own telepathy, the only other option was that the production Plant was somehow facilitating the link.

Maybe it was somehow easier with Millie. The woman had always been uncannily intelligent for someone so simple. Her genius with math, particularly chess, had led Elizabeth to let Millie loose on a Plant configuration board when the two insurance investigators had come to see the first plant to be converted. The results had been a very intuitive understanding of the technology, not unlike Elizabeth herself.

Millie Thompson would make an excellent Plant engineer. At the time, she'd wondered if perhaps the girl was a bit autistic, but now . . . or maybe all humans had the ability, and it only needed to be awakened? If the 'damage' Knives had caused was simply an installation of telepathy, would the fact that they were about to ask Millie to use it actually hurt the other woman?

She didn't want to cause any more damage than Meryl did, but they didn't have time for Meryl to do this her way. They were already out of time as it was. This attempt included a huge learning curve on Millie's part, and there was no telling how much access to his mind Knives was allowing.

That he would trust a human with his knowledge . . . she shivered, and looked at Millie's almost angry expression again.

She couldn't imagine anything making that ice-cold son of a bitch that desperate. He'd been staring at Vash's bionic arm, it had clearly shocked him, but . . . then again, he was so much more intelligent than a human. His immediate and complete grasp of the Lost Technology and their new design was something to be envied. He probably instantly made the leap as to _why_ they had gone to the effort of removing the implants, and deduced that Vash had already been installed, tested, and removed from the bulb. And that the human filth would _dare_ . . .

Well, at least she knew even Knives was afraid of something. Considering what he'd put his brother through, she was amazed anything as tame as a prison that sucked your life away would push him to that extreme.

Maybe they could use it as leverage, make him undo what he'd done to Millie? If it could be undone?

She resisted the urge to shake her head. Yeah, right. Manipulate Knives. She'd spent too much time with Stryfe.

Millie shifted again, shaking her head slightly as a napping person might respond to an annoying insect. Meryl smiled slightly.

"Millie."

The big girl's eyes flickered for a just a second, and then she shot bolt upright with almost inhuman speed. Elizabeth didn't have time to flinch until Millie was already sitting straight as a rod, but somehow Meryl had avoided being headbutted right off the bed. The smaller girl hadn't shifted much; just enough to dodge, and without an expression of surprise.

It was like she'd been expecting it.

Millie's eyes were wide open, but it was very clear they were not focused on anything. The girl's expression was quickly clouding from glowering to hysteria.

"How much longer?" she sang softly to herself. "But time means nothing."

Despite the madness in her eyes Millie didn't move. She sat exactly as she was, barely drawing in breath. Meryl was staring at her warily, but didn't move from the bed.

"Millie. You're dreaming. Can you hear me?"

"Soon," she murmured, as though to herself. "Soon."

Elizabeth shifted her eyes to Meryl without blinking. Obviously Millie had done this before, when waking –

And her angry expression. They were right.

Millie had access to Knives' mind.

Currently she was probably his mouthpiece. Until she regained consciousness, really asserted her personality, she was probably just a slave to him. Once he woke from the coma, he could probably exert a much higher degree of control.

Oh, god. Had he tried to destroy her personality, her awareness?

Had he been trying to render her nothing more than an empty vessel, that he could remotely control from the bulb?

"Knives," she called, on a hunch. Millie's head turned slightly, and the hysteria died instantly into an aloof, pleasant expression. Her eyes were still wide open, still unseeing.

Elizabeth didn't say anything else, but Millie suddenly smiled. It was that same smile, the one that didn't belong to her face. Her pupils contracted shockingly quickly, focusing on her.

And suddenly the smile didn't seem so foreign, after all.

Then Millie blinked.

It was a little slower, a little sluggish, and her eyes tracked awkwardly as she turned, confused, to her left. Meryl put a light hand on her gowned shoulder, waiting until she was certain she had the other woman's attention.

"How do you feel?"

Millie frowned, a much more Millie Thompson-like frown than the ones she'd shown in her sleep. She glanced around the room again, her displeasure evident. Then she reached down, fumbling with the bunched sheets before yanking them up. She peered beneath them, apparently checking to make sure she still had legs, and when she was satisfied, she dropped both the sheets and her hands listlessly. She had slowly been sagging from her absolutely straight-backed position, and by the time the sheets coiled into her lap again she was slouched in exhaustion.

"I didn't have enough time," she muttered. "The locked doors - some of them are just closed." She lifted her head with effort and focused on Stryfe. "I feel sick," she added matter-of-factly.

The bizarre statements didn't seem to faze Meryl in the least. "Millie, I'm sorry to wake you up. It's just . . ."

Millie focused, her eyes becoming a little more alert, before she nodded slowly. "Yes."

Finally the smaller woman seemed a little nonplussed. Elizabeth was beginning to wonder how many times the two had had conversations like this.

Of course. Meryl and Doc had previously had a conversation about Millie's condition. Meryl had known the moment she'd walked in the door that Millie Thompson was, for all intents and purposes, psychic.

"Would-would you just let me _say_ something without – answering! I didn't even ask the question!" the black-haired woman exploded, and Millie ducked her head in such a familiar gesture it caught in Elizabeth's throat.

Whatever he'd intended, she was still in there.

"Sorry, Meryl," she whispered contritely. "It's just that I agree with Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth blinked, fighting to keep her expression mild. "Agree with what?" she finally asked. That she was psychic?

Millie pressed her bottom lip into her upper one, a gesture that wasn't really a smile. "We don't have much time," she said simply. "And I don't know anything about the computers. I don't even know how to ask." Her expression sobered. "The wind is really, really angry with me," she confided in an even lower voice. "I don't think it likes me very much."

"Does it need to?" Elizabeth had always prided herself on being able to keep her eye on the ball. The esotericism of the conversation could be analyzed later.

Millie shrugged, the movement clumsy. "I don't know. The little boy still thinks I'm Rem."

Meryl winced. "Millie, when you dream, and you see that little boy, you know-"

She nodded. "I know." Her expression was soft, but resolute. "He's scared, Meryl. He doesn't feel very good either."

Rem . . . why did that name sound familiar?

"Millie, do you think you can get up? If you think it's going to hurt you, we'll find another way."

She shook her head. "I want to." She picked up her right hand and placed it over Meryl's, still on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sempai," she added, her voice quiet but strong. "But it's my decision."

Meryl let whatever protest she had remain mental, and just clenched her jaw briefly before nodding to herself. She took a preparatory breath, then looked straight at the engineer. "What first?"

What first indeed. "We need to get her to a console. I expect the nurse is already on his way." She cast a look around the room, noting only the equipment attached to Millie. The IV. The bags of liquid were on a wheeled pole, so that could be hauled with her. Beside the chair that Meryl was not utilizing, which was quite stationary, there was a short, mobile examination stool in the corner. Sam the nurse had not left a syringe, not even so much as a pen to use as a weapon.

She briefly considered hitting him with the stool when he walked in, but it was unwieldy and he looked pretty fit.

"I have an idea. Meryl, get her on the stool. It'll keep her from having to move as much."

The shorter woman looked as though she were about to say something, but she bit her tongue. It was quite tactless, whatever it was, because Millie stared at her partner as though the woman had started squawking like a toma. Meryl gave her a silencing look, and Elizabeth did her best to ignore them both, taking a position by the door.

She'd had bodyguards pretty much as long as she could remember. Vash had deposited her with relatives, and her uncle had been well off and nothing but relieved that his niece had survived the devastation of July. His house was staffed not only with butlers and a frightening house caretaker, but a security detail that kept the riff-raff at bay. He was a gentleman, much as her father had been, and he raised her properly, taught her how to be a lady. She grew into a willowy, elegant beauty, and she could have married almost any man on the planet and lived a life few on Gunsmoke could comprehend.

The problem was that the concept of getting married and sitting around like a piece of furniture had bored her out of her skull. She was the smartest thing her tutors had ever seen, and it wasn't long before she had taken – and passed – entrance exams to the Union training academy despite the fact that she hadn't had access to the training materials.

About the time he learned she'd be staying on campus for the training, as they had their own Plant, her uncle assigned their house caretaker to her. She'd known him only as that quiet, olive-skinned man with sharp eyes, and as a child she'd thought he was slightly creepy. His name was Sunjy.

And he'd personally murder her if she couldn't do something as simple as take down an unsuspecting nurse.

She had no doubt Sam was supposed to be watching them, waiting for them to re-enter the room, and he'd heard a little if not all of their conversation. Of course, if he'd heard the whole thing, there would have been several armed guards at the door by now. He might have been paying more attention to what was going on with Vash, but serious movement would catch his eye just as it had before. Obviously he had to have some kind of surveillance on her. And when they disconnected her from the machine that was recording her vitals, it would probably look to the computer as though she'd died. If nothing else had gotten his attention, that certainly would.

Hopefully he'd look at the monitor before he brought half the medical staff with him.

Meryl had pulled back the blankets, and hooked the stool with a sure, tiny foot, dragging it close. Obviously she'd come to the same conclusion, and with expert fingers she plucked off the small, white disc that seemed to be the one sensor still on Millie.

Unsurprisingly, the computer buzzed in alarm. Both girls ignored it. Millie swung her long legs to the side of the bed, wriggling her ankles.

"I think I can walk."

Meryl paid her no attention, and separated the light blue blanket from the sheet. "I'm not picking you up off the floor again, Millie."

The big girl visibly swallowed a protest, and transferred herself to the stool a little shakily, but successfully. She reached out, grabbing the wheeled stand and hooking it into her elbow. Her depth perception seemed a little off, and Elizabeth took the time to wonder how her coordination problems would hinder the process. They couldn't afford much delay, and she'd need to be quick enough to write her code around the programmers already logged into the system. They'd lock her out otherwise, and no matter how skilled Knives was with the technology, once a console had been deactivated or removed from the ship computer's domain, no amount of punching keys would allow it access. They'd have to move her to the next nearest console, which would probably be disabled by the time they got to it.

If Millie got locked out before she was fully in control of the system, they were in deep, deep trouble. Hopefully whatever mayhem Sunjy was causing was huge.

It didn't take long, and despite the fact she was balanced on the balls of her feet, the time between the door hissing open and Sam rushing inside was very little. The rooms were nearly soundproof – there'd been no warning before the doors pulled apart.

Of course, she didn't need much. She'd trained to handle situations far faster than this one.

Her left arm swung out, stiff at the elbow, relaxed at the shoulder, and the flat fat of the outside edge of her palm slammed into the man's nose. She used the momentum of the swing to bring herself around, aiming and landing a perfect axe kick directly onto the top of the stunned man's skull. He collapsed instantly, landing in a heap of white coat and blood.

She shook her left hand out, surprised to see it was relatively clean. She'd hit the middle of the bridge of his nose, exactly what she'd been aiming for, and her kick wouldn't have been high enough save the fact he'd already been ducking his head in reaction to the first blow.

She glanced up at the camera, hoping his body had fallen out of its line of sight, and caught a glimpse of Meryl and Millie gaping at her.

"Wow," Millie volunteered, in a chipper voice. "You really cleaned his clock."

Elizabeth shrugged. All that training she'd put herself through wasn't wasted after all. Just not used on the target she'd imagined. Though he was about Vash's height . . . "We don't have much time."

She ducked her head into the hall – no sign of anyone else. The sound of rubber wheels on tile urged her out of the doorframe, and a moment later Millie, hugging her knees and still dragging the IV stand, was pushed out into the hall by Meryl. They followed the engineer about ten yarz, almost back to the main entrance. A stripe of paneled, dark . . . glass, it looked like, ran the length of the hallway. Elizabeth stopped and waved her hand in front of an unmarked panel, and it suddenly lit up.

The white, opaque wall beneath it sighed opened, revealing a rectangle that held a keyboard.

The engineer looked at Millie expectantly, and the still somehow smaller-looking woman looked back at her questioningly before focusing again on the keyboard.

A moment of silence passed that way, with the two standing women staring at the seated one.

Millie put her hands on the keyboard, studying at it thoughtfully a moment. She hit a key and smiled slightly.

"I wish your typewriter were like this, sempai! You'd love it!"

Elizabeth watched Meryl grimace a smile. "Not now, Millie. Concentrate."

"Or, don't," the engineer added. "Just . . . wait for your hands to want to do something." Surely muscle memory would kick in? Or . . . then again, what did they expect? Knives to possess her like demons of ancient lore?

"Wiggle your fingers, maybe?"

That might actually not be a bad idea. "Or close your eyes and think about locking everyone else out of the other consoles."

Meryl didn't take her eyes off the relatively still Millie, but her next comment was very obviously not meant for her long-time friend. "What about locking the doors around us?"

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to grimace. "It won't do any good if we can't prevent them from accessing the systems." They'd just lock them out of the console, then force open the doors.

"She can't lock everyone else out of the system if we all get shot!"

Well, that was the problem with the plan, wasn't it. "It'll be easier to – just trust me."

Meryl finally spared her a sideways glance, readily expressing her frustration and anxiety. But there was something else there, something that had been missing in the meetings.

A spine? she thought dryly. Of all the times for Meryl Stryfe to -

Or maybe it was the best time of all. They were committed. They were either going to take all the Plants with them, or they were going to be detained. Permanently. Probably in cold-sleep tubes. Or possibly coffins.

Both women glanced away from one another at the same moment, both surprised to see Millie moving. Her hands were slowly but steadily wandering over the keys, and with ever-increasing confidence. From her angle Elizabeth could see that Millie had the tip of her tongue pinned between her teeth. Her expression, however, seemed to be one of delight.

Elizabeth studied the monitor, watching the lines fly by. For some reason, the girl wasn't simply locking down the system. It looked like she was - Elizabeth frowned as a parsing window came up, and Millie bent to filling it with neat, light green type. She was writing a routine?

"Millie, what –"

"I'm sorry, Miss Elizabeth, but you told me to make sure I locked everyone else out of the computer, and so I thought about that, and . . . and my hands just started typing! But I really just have no idea exactly how." She sounded thrilled. "This is really weird!"

"It would be easier if you just –"

Meryl touched her wrist, and Elizabeth flinched at the unfamiliar sensation of pressure on the light brace.

"Millie," the shorter woman said carefully, "what are you so excited about?"

"I . . . I just am!" She didn't slow her work, but she shook her head slowly, her body language still slumped despite her ever-increasing typing. If you didn't look at her hands, you'd have thought she was slouched in a rocking chair on her own porch, sipping a lemonade and watching the sun set. "It just makes me so happy to be helping!"

Elizabeth decided not to get a closer look at the woman's expression. Seeing the faint undercurrents of someone so unlike Millie under the skin of her face had been horrible enough the first time. Whatever she was writing, clearly it tickled Knives to death.

That probably meant trouble.

"I'm going to check on Doc," she said, moderating her voice for a very casual tone. "Meryl, stay with her. Millie, you might want to lock all the doors around the infirmary halls except-"

A series of soft chimes rang out, not quite in unison but close. A quick glance at the hall showed soft crimson lights over all the doors.

All but one.

She locked the room she'd previously been in, Elizabeth noted. Well, it was probably easier to enter a global command with only one exception than two. No reason to leave it unlocked. Unless they suddenly needed some cover. But since Doc had been alone in his room, it was unlikely someone was going to materialize out of the floor shooting.

Meryl barely acknowledged the comment, and Elizabeth took that as a signal, striding purposefully down the corridor. Knives was still doubtlessly in a coma, so Millie should have control of what she was doing, at least her intent if not the actual carrying out. She was writing a routine as it affected the doors so – so she was writing the path they'd take to get to the Plants, so no one had to be sitting at the console opening all the doors manually?

It would certainly make things easier in the long run, but currently –

But currently nothing. If she could effortlessly write something that complicated, she'd probably already started the locking down of the core system. Or maybe –

Maybe she'd asked the ship's Plant to do it.

It had responded so willingly to Knives, after all.

She entered the only room without a light above the doors, not surprised to find Doc turning his head towards her as she stepped through. So much for him wanting to rest. Elizabeth allowed them to close behind her before flashing him a reassuring smile.

"Millie's having a good time with the computers."

He returned her smile as best he could, and began to reach across his body towards his right arm. "Could you be a dear . . ."

He was indicating the still worryingly active metal hands inside the grafting box.

Elizabeth moved to his right side, giving the equipment a once-over. Despite the fact that it was extremely advanced equipment that she would imagine only highly qualified people would ever be around to operate, she'd found that a lot of Lost Technology was despicably easy to use. Sure enough, there were five slightly raised buttons on the side farthest from the patient. On those raised square buttons were images. She chose the one that she'd come to know as the apparently universal sign for power, and it clicked satisfyingly beneath her hand.

The twin metal hands immediately ceased their hovering and folded towards the top of the box like shining bird's feet. There was a hiss as pressurized air somewhere released, and the cuff that had been securely around the joint of Doc's arm and shoulder relaxed slowly.

Of course. To prevent the stench of dying flesh from bothering the patient.

She tried to sniff the air without appearing too obvious about it. She trusted him with his own health, certainly, but why would the equipment still be actively grafting if his arm was as repaired as he claimed? Was it just a supremely mothering kind of robot?

While she caught definite whiffs of flesh, the overwhelming scents in the room were antiseptics and ozone. Nothing terribly unexpected. And she'd smelled the odor of burnt human flesh more times than she cared to recollect. Doc withdrew the remainder of his arm gingerly from the equipment, and she couldn't help a wince as the new skin on the very edge of his stump clonked strongly against the metal frame of the cuff.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, waving the arm around a bit. It looked as though they'd removed everything from his elbow joint down, and the skin from that point to the middle of his bicep was pink and waxy, as though it had been slipped off someone else like a coat sleeve and just laid over his own. The line of the synthetic flesh to his would have been unbroken, save his real skin had a different amount of melanin, and it was puffy and angry. A bit of a clear serum had collected below one painful looking lesion.

"It's been a long time," he noted softly, then sat upright slowly, wincing.

"I'm sorry?" she asked politely as she moved to help him. He shook her off with a gentle headshake.

"Since I was on the receiving end of medical care," he explained, then coughed dryly. "The painkillers are pretty good."

She half-smiled and allowed him to slowly tilt himself into a sitting position. He nodded his head towards the base of the bed.

"In one of those drawers you'll find some thicker gauze, it may carry an orthopedics label. If I could trouble you to wrap this nice new skin of mine with it, I would be eternally grateful."

She knelt obediently and began shuffling through the drawers. "Our plan has changed." Now that niceties had been observed, he needed to be brought up to speed. "We're taking the Plants with us."

"Oh?" was all he said.

The drawers were filled with all manner of bandaging, and she tossed what she didn't need onto the floor as she searched. "Depriving them of a main power source became an option. Can you think of a routine we can set after the fact to drain their battery power?"

"Several," the older man muttered, and coughed again. It wasn't wet, didn't sound like pneumonia, and she paused in her search and glanced up at him.

"Do you have broken ribs?"

She already knew the answer – she'd once sat in a sand steamer apartment with Aaron for three days, listening to that curious cough. It indicated swelling on the outside of the lungs, not the inside, and it wasn't life-threatening, but it did mean they'd have to go even easier on him than she'd planned.

Logistically, they were in trouble. They were a party of nine, and only five of them could even walk. The production Plant, Knives, and Vash would have to be carried outright. Meryl could help support Millie, and she'd either be left carrying Knives, Vash, or the Plant. Maybe Meryl could help both Millie and Doc? They only had to get as far as the vehicle depot –

Elizabeth made a mental note to ask Millie to look for it before they left. The earthmovers had been removed from the ship sometime in the last one hundred and thirty years, probably before the ship had become too covered with sand. They were worthless as conveyance, but the smaller stuff had to be kept in an off-ship location somewhere nearby. There were probably several bunkers filled with supplies outside of the main ship.

Hopefully not staffed full-time.

She made another mental note.

"I do. Do you have a broken wrist?"

Elizabeth hid another smile as she found the bandaging Doc had indicated. "Hairline fracture."

He just nodded, and she straightened quickly and ripped the sterilized paper from the rolls. "Millie's locked everyone out of the Infirmary and is probably working on the network."

"I see." He watched her as she worked, starting at the bottom of the new flesh and wrapping quickly upwards. "A little tighter, dear. I won't break."

His eyes were old but clear, the palest of dark greens, and his eyelids carried the years like faux wood. He was on some really good drugs, she noted, watching his slightly dilated pupils watching her.

"Did he speak?" he asked finally.

She shook her head. "She was dreaming, though." There was no doubt what he was asking. And though they no longer had to keep up pretenses, she found she was glad the question was so . . . simple. "I think she has control of what she does, but there's no doubt it's influenced. She's enjoying coding a little too much."

"Well, his hopes are being fulfilled. He's getting his escape," Doc said lightly, and she wondered if it was just a comment or a gentle reminder that she hadn't finished telling him the plan.

Not that there was much more to tell.

"We'll head to Eden." She had finished winding the second bandage up to his shoulder, more gently around the open sores and blisters, and tied it off at the top of his shoulder. "There's too much of a chance of running into them in cities, and it's too much of a risk to bring Vash there."

He didn't protest, instead moving the arm in a circle. It was difficult for him to do, which was apparently the point. "An excellent job," he complimented, then slid ungracefully off the bed. He was dressed only in the gown he'd been given after surgery, and he wriggled his bare toes on the cool floors. Despite his initial shaky descent, he seemed okay on his feet.

"Ask Millie to allow me access to the medical records, please," he started, in a stronger voice. "I'll assume I'm to monitor Vash and Knives during the trip?"

She nodded. He was waiting for her to say something else about Vash, she knew. And there was nothing more to say. "Also, we'll need whatever medicines and equipment that can be easily carried. I don't know what sort of supplies Knives might have."

"Didn't you visit Eden?"

He was remarkably well-informed for an old guy in a SEEDs ship. She hid her surprise by turning back for the door. "I didn't exactly get the grand tour," she replied, casting around for something he could use as a cane.

He interpreted at least her excuse properly, because he coughed gently. "No need. I'll manage. Who's going to uninstall the production Plant?"

Sunjy was closest, if he was still safe. "One of my men," she replied. "I'll take care of Knives."

She needed to make sure Millie knew to get Sunjy out. Third mental note.

She was very good at keeping up with them – she'd had more practice than she cared to admit. The trip from Doc's room back to the two insurance investigators was spent wracking her brain for a solution to their most pressing problem – how to confine the crew of the ship without catching Aaron and Sunjy. Hopefully Aaron had already made it into a hallway, and he could do some cleanup for them, but Sunjy had no way of knowing when his distractionary tactics could be considered completed.

A part of her felt badly for leaving the old man alone, but he seemed to be walking okay despite the ribs. And just as they didn't have time to coddle Millie Thompson, they didn't have much time to wait for the elderly, either.

Millie was still hunched over the keyboard, and Meryl was tucking the pale blue blanket more tightly around the taller girl. Maybe the reason she seemed so short on that stool had to do with the fact that Meryl was just the tiniest bit shorter standing beside her, and Meryl never really seemed as tiny as she was –

Meryl glanced up as Elizabeth returned, and she nodded. "Doc's up and he's okay." She had eyes only for the screens, not surprised to see them stacked like tiles. Three parsing windows, one compiler, the network tree being explored by objects, and something that was in text –

"I think . . . I'm done," Millie declared, taking a deep breath. She seemed to be moving her hands over the keyboard in slow, hovering circles, waiting for her fingertips to tell her where they wanted to go.

"How did you confine the crew?"

Millie pursed her lips in her usual confounded fashion. "Well, shucks, Miss Elizabeth, you didn't ask me to do that!" She stared at the keyboard a second, then frowned at her fingers.

"Why can't we just gas them?" Meryl was still playing with the hem of the blanket, staring blankly at the displays before her.

"Because that was specifically set up for Knives, and just one room," Elizabeth explained in what she hoped was a less impatient voice than she felt. "This is a working ship. It isn't like they installed sleeping gas in all the ventilation shafts."

"Well, can we?"

Practical. But impossible. "Unfortunately, no. Too many shafts, no sleeping gas."

Meryl growled to herself. "Well, fine. If we can't put something in, can we take something out?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to point out the flaw in that idea, too – and stopped. Millie, on the other hand, immediately began to type.

So Knives really wasn't driving her. Until she had a direct idea of a set task to perform, she truly did have control of what she was doing.

"Millie, open up a audio link to Doc. Also, he needs into a console to –"

"I didn't shut off the one in his room," she interrupted apologetically. "Hi, Doc!"

A small window opened in the fore, showing the top of Doc's shiny pate as he worked at the console. He was leaning pretty heavily on a stool, but otherwise appeared fine, and he glanced up with one of his wavy smiles.

"Hello, Miss Millie," he greeted. "How are you feeling, young lady?"

"Sick," she responded immediately. "I think it's because of the sleeping drugs."

He just nodded into the camera. "Headache, dizziness?"

She shook her head. "Nope! Just a little numb."

He nodded, as though this was perfectly expected. "I understand this is all very new and frightening, but please try to stay calm-"

"I will! And I already gave you access to all of the documents and data on Mr. Vash and Mr. Knives," she added.

Meryl was frowning, but she just shook her head slightly when Elizabeth tried to catch her eye.

"Yes, you did! And I see you did a fine job isolating the network. The false timeout errors were quite clever. They might not yet have even noticed."

Millie beamed. "Meryl and Miss Elizabeth wanted to talk to you."

"Doc, by what percent should we lower the air pressure to induce unconsciousness?" There was no point in beating around the bush. "And how quickly after normal air is restored will a person regain consciousness?"

Doc blinked, but his projected image seemed to make the leap pretty quickly. "Lower the pressure in the desired areas to 2.75 PSI. Unconsciousness should occur in 18 to 30 seconds." He paused, his eyes searching nothing as he ran some calculations in his head. "Once you've succeeded in incapacitating the crew, raise the pressure to 6.75. That will keep them unconscious but significantly increase the time you can keep them out without permanent risk. It will also allow you to operate in those areas if you keep activity to a minimum and remain there for under five minutes."

So they could take down the entire ship, then increase the pressure, get Sunjy and Aaron, and so long as they carried oxygen with them or emptied areas of crew members before setting to work, they could conceivably have the run of the ship.

"How long will it be safe to keep the pressure at the higher level?"

Doc frowned up at the camera. "I would expect to see seizures in those suffering hypoxia in about twenty to thirty minutes. Whatever it is we must do, it must be done quickly. I would suggest that the crew you can contain without depriving of air, do so."

Millie was typing up a storm, and the window of Doc disappeared behind the compiler. It didn't close, though, which meant they were keeping open the audio link with Doc. Elizabeth ticked off her mental notes..

"Millie, can you find Aaron and Sunjy?"

The other girl nodded after a moment, and after another series of screens flashed by, she brought up the ship by sections. Two green dots appeared – one in the main Archives, the other two levels up in a bay marked Storage B-7.

"Mr. Carter's in the storage warehouse with two other guards," Millie added, making the rest of the crew appear as lighter grey dots.

Two of the lighter grey dots were blinking a dull yellow.

"Oh, no," Millie breathed. Before either Elizabeth or Meryl could ask what it meant, the view had scrolled to a specific section of the ship. Two personnel logs came up, scrolling through data, as the dull yellow dots continued to flash.

Elizabeth glanced at the personnel manifests, then did a double-take. Faber was the captain in charge of the data deletion investigation, with the funny accent. He'd probably been the one to okay or nix Aaron's suggestions, too, and thus the one that had let the lift override slip through –

The other picture was none other than Commander Bryan Gray.

"Millie, what does that mean?" Meryl's voice was tight.

Their photos and summaries vanished, replaced by two very short, memo-formatted messages. Both had timestamps and a series of numbers that Elizabeth assumed were military ID numbers. The messages were auto-generated, and the header indicated they had been sent to the STAT team –

The messages had been sent to the Infirmary.

Elizabeth blinked, momentarily shocked. The contents were a swarm of acronyms and numbers; one held a graph moving in a steady but steep downward pattern, the other was more like plummeting immediately off the edge of a mountain ridge.

"Their badges aren't recording any life signs," Millie whispered.

Meryl tensed behind the other girl. "You mean they took them off? You can't track them through the ship?"

Elizabeth fingered the button on her collar. So was that what those were?

Millie was shaking her head. "They work by proximity." She said it softly but confidently, as though she knew it was fact. "If either of them were within fifty yarz it wouldn't have sent the page." Her voice was growing thicker by the second. "These messages are automatically sent when – when – Oh, Meryl, they died! We locked in all the doctors and they died!"

Meryl had wrapped her arms around Millie from behind, steadying the other woman. Millie had begun to shake, her hands curling into fists on the keyboard.

"It's not your fault, Millie," Meryl was soothing. "Let's just see what happened so we can stop it from happening again, okay?"

"Is anyone else in the room with them?" Elizabeth asked quietly. It was a dream come true, that the most dangerous men on the ship had been so neatly dispatched as soon as they'd gotten control of the . . . computers . . .

Millie was still shaking, but she brought up the schematics of the ship again. In the room – marked 'Commander's quarters' – there were the two yellow dots.

And a lone, stationary gray one.

- . -

He couldn't move.

The room should have been quieter. He'd spent so much effort making it that way. The door, the dampener in the ventilation, even specially engineered light bulbs in the panel overlooking the conference table. He'd busied himself making sure there were enough pieces of fabric in the room to prevent the slapping echo that parallel, metal walls usually produced. He'd tidied the piles of graphing paper to prevent accidental encounters with elbows, he'd hand-adjusted the chime and notification bells.

And despite his master's appreciation of all Earth-created objects, he had eschewed the idea of a traditional pendulum clock. No matter how good the ship's grav field was, he said, they just didn't work properly. They knew.

Still, a rhythmic ticking pounded into the silence, measuring time too quickly. The fingers themselves were unmarred, relaxed and excellent conductors of the mechanism. Eventually it would slow, then stop altogether, but for now it was a freshly turned hourglass, depositing its sands onto the once-clean floor.

Only the sands were too fluid, and they were running everywhere.

And each grain was a drop of blood.

The gun was still on the conference table, having fallen from enough of a height that it had gouged the real wood finish. He would have been more upset about it if he hadn't recognized the remnants of the head that lay fairly near it. The gun arm had been propelled right off the table, however, and so the pooling blood had found its convenient road to the floor.

Freely flowing splashes of it continued to drip from the limp hand to measure the minutes, faster than minutes but agonizingly slow, and all he could do was stand there, and stare at the table.

Somehow, everything had gone awry.

And for the life of him, Terry couldn't think of a way out of this one.

- . -

**Author's Notes:** I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter – real life is getting awfully pesky these days. But look! I accomplished . . . something. Death! Blood! Violence! Okay, so it's not what I said it would be, but at least you can all take solace in the surety that I really can't stop and introspect any more than I already have. This chapter has been split into two parts due to length, and this was the only good place to stop. The next chapter, which will be the second half of this one, will wrap up the successful or failed escape attempt. I promise.

As always, thank you so much for your comments! And a shout out to the lurking chryssantes, MalignantUser, and WolfDaughter. Thank you for the faves/alerts! And inkydoo for listening to me waffle and giving such good suggestions! Again, if you folks notice any boo-boos or plotholes, please let me know. Constructive criticism is encouraged! I like the wild guesses, too. ;)


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer in previous chapters. This chapter was officially too long to post as one chapter, but per my promise last chapter I have posted the content, just not as a single chapter. Hey, I can't help the limit restriction the site put on document length. Not my fault! So you get multiple chapters simultaneously, but the escape attempt is resolved. The chapters contain much action.

The wonderful feedback that has been so generously left for me has indicated some readers are a little confused as to what's going on. The following paragraphs summarize the past few chapters. Skip if you're not confused. Edits will be made to previous chapters to alleviate the confusion.

In chapter 16, Commander Gray schedules a meeting with Captain Faber and orders Dr. Shrew to euthanize G-101A (aka Vash the Stampede) at the conclusion of the days' tests, not to exceed four hours. Elizabeth makes contact with Meryl and Millie, and Doc confirms that Millie is probably telepathically linked with Knives.

In chapter 17, Meryl realizes she's been in a holding pattern, waiting for Vash all this time, and vows to take action. Millie confirms she now has access to telepathy by reading thoughts. The women realize they can take all the Plants off the ship, not just the twins, and learn from Private Asoaurd that Vash will be killed within the hour.

In chapter 18, the women take action. Millie hacks the computers, isolates the network, and locks down the infirmary. Meryl suggests lessening air pressure to knock out the crew. Millie begins work, but is distracted by Elizabeth's request that her men be located. This leads to the discovery of the apparent deaths of two crew members – Captain Faber and Commander Gray. Terry Asoaurd is discovered in the room, alive.

- . -

"Millie, calm down."

The big girl was shaking, transfixed by the dots on the screen, and Meryl reached around her, frantically hitting keys until the image changed to something else.

She hadn't lowered the air pressure yet. She hadn't even locked any of the doors but the infirmary yet!

"It's not your fault –"

" But Dr. Shrew couldn't get to them!" Millie almost wailed, ducking her face to her right shoulder, as though she wanted nothing more than to bury it in the light blue blanket. "I stopped the pages from going through! Oh, Meryl! What if-"

"There's nothing you could have done," Elizabeth said softly, and for once Meryl agreed wholeheartedly. "Millie, you didn't kill those two men."

Meryl rubbed her hands up and down Millie's arms in what she hoped was a soothing manner. Millie had to feel sick indeed if she was acting so subdued. As far as she knew, Millie hadn't ever taken a life –

Unless Knives had made her.

Millie tensed, and Meryl bit her bottom lip to distract her brain for any further thoughts along those lines. What's done is done. They had to focus and keep moving forward.

"There's a saboteur on the ship, Millie," Elizabeth continued, quietly but urgently. "They weren't sure it wasn't just Knives manipulating his sister Plant, but now it's pretty obvious it's a member of the crew."

Meryl silently thanked the other woman as Millie stopped cringing in on herself. She sniffled, then swallowed. "You . . . you think it's Terry. You think he killed those men?"

Meryl's mind fled back to the conversation they'd had with him, not twenty minutes ago. She didn't recall anything about him indicating he was about to go on a murdering rampage -

"I don't know," the engineer replied truthfully. Then she paused. "Although . . ."

He was certainly nice to them, Meryl reflected. He'd taken her aside and warned her about Commander Gray. He'd given her the very precious pieces of paper tucked into her jacket. He'd accidentally let it slip about Vash and that they were being recorded –

Meryl felt herself frown, and wrapped her arms a little tighter around Millie. What if it hadn't been an accidental slip? What if he'd warned them purposefully? But - "But he couldn't have. He barely left here twenty minutes ago, and he was on his way to Dr. Shrew."

"I agree." The engineer was still using a patient, soothing voice. "He probably just found them that way. But it means there's someone on the ship that has a high level of access, and they're killing people. We need to stop crew movement, Millie, and you and Doc are the only people who can do that. Doc is busy with Knives and Vash, so . . . that leaves you." Elizabeth offered what she probably thought was a friendly expression. "When you lock down everyone else, you'll lock down the killer."

Millie sniffled again, then took a deep breath. "Okay," she agreed in a very child-like voice, and slowly leaned forward again. Meryl kept her arms loosely around the bigger girl's waist, holding her steady on the stool and giving her something lean against.

Millie, please stay calm. It's okay. We'll get off this ship and we'll make Knives fix you up good as new. It took everything in her not to finish that thought with a threat on Knives' life, and Millie shook again.

But this time with a muffled laugh.

"Thank you, sempai," she mumbled, watching her hands typing away. Some of Knives' happiness had worn off, apparently – was that because Millie was more awake or because something had gone wrong?

As if some lunatic running around the ship killing people wasn't wrong.

"Millie, can you send out a broadcast message to the handhelds, or have you disabled that portion of the network already?"

She paused in her work, then sighed. "I . . . I really don't know, Miss Elizabeth. Can you look?"

The woman nodded, reaching forward and typing on the keyboard. Her uniformed sleeve pulled back enough to expose a beige splint, and Meryl recalled that her wrist had been broken. Her aching face was a memory; she barely noticed it anymore, but she wondered if the same was true for the engineer. If she was bothered, she didn't show it.

No time, she realized. They only had one chance to pull this off, but with Gray out of the way –

Well, what? It wasn't as though she'd even met the other man . . . Faber. There would still be guards after them. It was a military ship, after all, and she could expect it to run much the way the more traditional Feds did. Chain of command. It would probably fall to the large, bald general . . . Phillip Basil? Basil Phillip? She recalled he seemed kind, but he'd been very active in the role to stop Knives, which meant he was accustomed to military situations like this one. She couldn't expect the sausage-fingered general to go any easier on them than he would any other terrorist.

Then again, Asoaurd hadn't warned her about _him._

Elizabeth toggled through the screens easily. "No, you didn't," she said, with no small amount of respect in her voice. "What did you do . . .?"

Millie fidgeted. "I . . . I really don't know," she started hesitantly. "I think . . . that I thought that it would be easier to just fool the other people on the network into thinking there was a big problem, so they'd be worrying a lot more while I did little stuff, and would be looking in the wrong direction."

Meryl rested her chin on Millie's shoulder and watched the screens on the monitor. None of them really made sense, even though they were in English. As Elizabeth went through them, she seemed even more mystified.

"You modified the servers and routers to fail to respond to packets originating from all the other consoles . . . which would make it look like the entire network was down when the infrastructure was actually still up and working," she murmured, as though in explanation. Not that _that_ made any more sense than the screens themselves did.

"So you can do . . . whatever it is you needed to?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I deal with plants, Meryl, not ships." She glanced at Millie hopefully, and the other girl smiled.

"What do you need?"

"We need to send out a message to warn Aaron and Sunjy of the air pressure drop. But if they get a message and no one else does –"

"They'll be in danger," Meryl finished. "Doc said it would take up to half a minute for everyone to pass out."

Elizabeth nodded. "So, I need you to also send out a broadcast message to all the other PDAs, so they all go off at once and say the same thing . . . "

"Except Aaron's and Sunjy's," Millie piped up. "Wow, that's a great idea. What should the other message say?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Make something up."

Probably something about pudding.

"Don't be silly, sempai! Then they'd know it was me! Besides, I feel too sick for pudding," she added as an afterthought. Then she frowned. "I didn't know I could feel too sick for pudding."

Meryl commanded her brain to stop thinking so loudly.

"Once the crew is out, can you turn the PDA systems back on, at least? That way we can communicate without having to bother you."

Millie nodded wordlessly, and looked at her fingers for confirmation. They had been wandering around the keyboard apparently without her permission, because they paused for a moment before she started typing again.

They watched her for a few minutes, and then a series of alert messages flew to the fore of the screen, followed by the now-familiar diagram of the ship. Much as it had when Knives had been attacking, it rotated on an invisible axis, and most of the chambers inside were flashing red.

"Millie . . . what room is that?"

Elizabeth touched the screen, rather than the keyboard, and the image immediately zoomed in. Millie squinted a moment at it, as though she thought it would tell her, but another box on the side identified it as PBEEF 2E.

"It's a storage room for the ship engineers," Millie answered, though she still hadn't glanced at the room's label. "Why?"

Elizabeth blinked at her. "Well, it's not marked for depressurization . . ."

Millie shook her head. "Nope," she agreed.

Both women waited for more, but a further explanation never came.

"Why not?" Elizabeth finally asked, her voice the same one would use to lead a petulant child to explain why there were bits of crayon all over the floor and walls.

"Well, because no one is in it!" the tall girl answered. "And it's very dangerous, you know."

Meryl removed her chin from Millie's shoulder so she could talk more easily. "What do you mean, dangerous? To lower the air pressure?"

The girl nodded. "Of course. You know as well as I do that the Bernardelli Field Employee Handbook lists 'improper storage of non-rated battery cells in a high-altitude environment' as the number two cause of accidental explosions, on page 227, graph four. Lowering the air pressure in the rooms is the same as putting them way up high on a mountain range, isn't it?"

"Oh, of course," Meryl echoed unthinkingly. Wait . . . did that mean that they might cause explosions on the ship? She found herself wondering if the armories had been staffed at the time Millie had begun her lockdown. All this was for naught if the ship blew up!

"What was the first?" the engineer asked, whether to test her memory or out of honest curiosity, Meryl couldn't tell.

"Mr. Vash the Stampede," Millie answered. "Though I think they've republished it since his bounty was removed and – oh! We haven't been back by the main office to get another copy yet!"

"Later, Millie." It was her usual businesslike voice, and she was glad to hear it echo in her own ears. "What parts of the ship are most likely to . . . be like unrated battery cells?"

Millie pointed at the screen, tapping several rooms very precisely on the diagram. "But some of them had people in them," she murmured softly. "So I only lowered the air pressure a little bit in there."

"Did you also secure the hall outside those doors?" The engineer sounded alarmed.

Millie nodded. "It's just a few places. Don't worry, I'll watch them."

"What about the crew in the halls?"

Millie stared at the grey dots that were not confined to chambers of the ship. "If they try to go into rooms that aren't locked, they'll be locked in." She seemed to be getting a better grasp on what it was she was doing, Meryl noted. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but it seemed to give Millie a little more confidence.

"And the halls that I could seal up I did. If you guys need into one of those, I made yours and Sunjy's and Aaron's little computer things have the ability to open and close any door. You'll just have to hurry through so you don't get a headache."

Elizabeth's PDA suddenly chimed, and she glanced at it before smiling. "You told them to go to sleep?"

Millie shrugged. "That's what we wanted them to do, so I thought I'd ask first."

Meryl couldn't help a smile. As if anyone could obey a request like that. "So does that mean –"

Millie nodded, and the red lights flashing on the diagram of the ship changed to orange, each with a small meter that showed a decrease. They were far too small to read, but they all decreased at the same rate, and the computer obviously didn't like it one bit.

"The production Plant's room . . . was anyone in there?"

Millie tapped the screen again, and brought up a familiar-looking chamber. "There were in the control room," the girl responded after a moment. "But no one in the bulb room, so it's still the same pressure as outside."

Elizabeth nodded, and they watched the levels stabilize. At few at first, then more and more of the grey dots began to flash that same, odd yellow, and Millie took a deep breath. Meryl gave her a little hug. Elizabeth began to pat herself down, as though looking for something, then cursed quietly.

Meryl glanced her way when the woman simply began to walk away. "Where are you going?"

She waved a hand, which seemed a pretty dismissive gesture until Meryl realized it was to do something that she wouldn't understand even if it were explained. Probably something to do with rotos and packages. A muffled chime rang out over her footsteps, and Elizabeth picked up that little grey computer again. Then she spun on her heels, still backing down the hall towards Doc's room.

"I need to get some equipment to uninstall Knives," she called down the hall. "Can you send Sunjy a message and tell him to head out and uninstall the production Plant? He's closer than Aaron."

Millie nodded, turning back to the keyboard, and Meryl clamped down hard on her brain. Practical. Think forward. "She probably wants you to let him out, too." And Carter, otherwise they'd pass out. She wasn't sure how long they could hold their breaths, but it had already been a minute or more –

"Oh! Yes, I should, shouldn't I," Millie said in a worried voice. "Oh, sempai, what if . . ."

Meryl moved to stand beside the girl, and Millie shook her head. "Then I'll just have to write it now to make sure it still happens!" she declared, and bent her head to typing again. Meryl sighed, and glanced back down the hall. Elizabeth had already disappeared into Doc's room.

Her eyes trailed across the tops of all the other doors, soft red lights above the double-paned entrances. One of those rooms contained Vash. One of those rooms contained the doctors that wanted to kill him. Had Millie already stopped the tests – of course, when she took down the computers. Still, Millie hadn't lowered the pressure here, so . . . did that mean they also needed to make sure Dr. Shrew and her small army didn't find a way to get out?

She wanted to head down to Doc herself, find out what he was doing, but she didn't want to leave Millie alone. She turned to glance at the other girl, slumped so exhaustedly but typing with new fervor. She didn't respond to the thoughts, and Meryl kept her voice to herself.

- . -

"God damn it," one of them growled into the silence. There were a few affirming grunts.

Sunjy glanced up as the error flashed offscreen. They were basic time-out errors, indicating that the servers were responding extremely sluggishly or not at all. They had been quickly noticed, but were being shrugged off by the programmers, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be distracting them from them or pointing them out.

Of all the times for Miss Elizabeth to be that cryptic . . . obviously she'd found another exploitable weakness, and she was attempting something. But what? Taking down the servers was hardly going to improve their chances of escape. It would be a nuisance at best.

"How often does that happen?" he asked quietly, and the dark-haired one, Todd, turned his head ever so slightly in the olive-skinned man's direction.

"All the time," he replied. "We've been using these systems non-stop since the Fall, and they just weren't designed for it." He tapped a couple keys pretty forcefully before leaning back in his chair. "We were supposed to have progressed to industrialization by now, and if not, the Plants could have manufactured the parts."

Sunjy blinked, noting the frustration in the tone but choosing not to acknowledge it. These men specifically found dissatisfaction with their jobs, possibly because they had never been intended to perform nothing but maintenance on older systems. Like much of the other crew, they felt constrained, misled, and disenfranchised.

But something kept them in line, and he wasn't sure it was something as easily definable as military honor.

"You have a Plant – why not manufacture spare parts?"

Todd glanced at the man next to him, but answered. "We have a Plant. Just one, out of an original inventory of twelve. When this Plant is decommissioned, we're dead in the vacuum."

Of course. It was a military ship; they probably had originally had one Plant for every cannon, and several for shields. He'd seen enough of the ship to know it had sustained some pretty heavy damage on landing, and certainly would not be spaceworthy again. Particularly not after Knives had created his own front door.

And if they were down to one, they obviously hadn't noticed or harvested any Cherubs.

"You could always take one from one of the towns," he noted softly, as though apologetic for asking them to reveal something they shouldn't have. " Inepral City has had some luck in cultivating new Plants."

Todd finally swiveled in his chair, looking directly at Sunjy. "Considering you're one of the lunatics letting the few Plants we still have run rampant over the planet –" He stopped, with effort, and took a deep breath. "What do you care? You've spent the last two days in here doing worthless research and now you're acting like you . . . feel sorry for us!"

Sunjy didn't change his expression. The other programmers were facing their monitors, but it was obvious he now had everyone's attention.

"I understand the frustration of not being able to do your job," he said simply. "What few tasks I have been given by Miss Elizabeth, I have not been allowed to perform."

He delicately didn't add that was because they, along with Terry Asoaurd, wouldn't allow him enough access to the archives to do anything useful besides compute fairly easy arithmetic.

Todd almost laughed. "Two days, and you understand what it's like?"

Sunjy raised his eyebrows slightly. "If you've had more time, why haven't you solved the problem?"

Surprisingly, Todd dropped his eyes and his anger seemed to hesitate a little bit. "Until we've reached our goal numbers –"

"Who set them?"

"Hey, T."

Todd didn't even glance away, and Sunjy held his gaze mildly.

"Try to ping your router."

"Why."

"I can't ping mine."

Todd's eyes flickered to his right. "So?"

"I could about a minute ago."

"Sid, the network's down –"

"That's why I'm asking you to ping your router. You're on a different subnet."

Todd turned away from Sunjy dismissively, and he sighed quietly. So much for successfully distracting them –

"What possessed you to do that in the first place?" Todd grumbled to himself, typing in the command. He received another set of timeout errors. "Mine's down."

The other programmers were starting to mimic the motions, talking amongst themselves.

"I can't think of anything that'd cause the failure of four physically redundant routers besides power," Sid was calling over the general chatter. "I was just pinging it to make sure it wasn't my console, and it disappeared about a minute ago."

"No, it was always weird," another voice spoke up. "One of my routines was still running – see that green LED? It shows me hard drive activity on the server and it never went down. In fact, it's still not down –"

"Shit, don't tell me we've been sitting on this for ten minutes when we should've –"

"It's no good. The server's still giving timeout errors-"

"If the routers are down the server could be up and fine and still giving you timeouts."

"Surely NetOps already knows about this-"

"Do you think it's sabotage?"

"Who'd take down the routers?"

"It takes down the entire network –"

"Not if you leave yours up."

This caused a general silence, before there was a sudden flurry of activity. "Find the ones up. Everyone take the next consecutive three, starting with 20.145."

"If it's the Plant-"

"It's not the Plant!"

Sunjy turned to his own console, typing in a ping command and getting the same response. It was as though the router wasn't there. Or the switch simply wasn't passing on the packet. Either way, shutting down the network would also make it difficult for them to manipulate the systems to get out. It would slow the search parties, and prevent the crew from easily locating them on the ship, but once you went to the server itself or the sensor itself – it wasn't like the entire ship operated on a single network. There was all manner of redundancy, on the off chance half the ship was blown apart in combat.

In unison, all their PDAs chimed.

Including his.

Sunjy blinked, then unhooked the mostly useless device from his belt. Most of the programmers were doing so as well, though some were ignoring it utterly. Obviously it was a broadcast message, probably telling them what they already knew – the network had been pretty much clobbered. Of course, if the PDA system was working, the message servers were up, which meant that the entire network was not down, just –

But how could the routers be down if the messages had arrived at the correct PDAs? Or perhaps it really was a broadcast message, and that was why he'd gotten it as well?

He glanced at the screen, then deleted the message. The others didn't respond nearly as calmly.

"Please go to sleep?" one of them read dumbly. "What the . . .?"

"Told you it wasn't the Plant," Sid muttered. "Whoever this saboteur is, they're a real smart-ass."

Sunjy's ears popped, and he adjusted pressure in his Eustachian tubes, continuing to do exactly what his PDA had told him.

Hold his breath.

With the change in air pressure came an immediate and radical climate shift. The room temperature dropped at least fifteen degrees in a matter of seconds, and his ears continued to ache. He equalized pressure again by swallowing. The air pressure was decreasing rapidly; he hadn't experienced anything like this before. Usually it was the other way around, when you were a lift or falling from a significant height, and you had to blow air into your ears to equalize pressure.

The programmers hadn't gotten the warning to hold their breath, and as such were unprepared for the sudden drop of air pressure. Sunjy sat quietly as they made a beeline for the door, clutching their ears. Blood trickled between the fingers of some of them, indicating that their eardrums had burst. Water was beginning to condense on the still-lit computer screens, and it was now cold enough that Sunjy was starting to shiver in his light grey uniform.

Most of the men didn't even make it to the door; those that did were able to pound on it only once or twice before they, too, collapsed. Their gasping had done them no good; while there was still the same mix of oxygen in the air, there was just so little air to breathe it didn't make a difference. Every one of them was unconscious in under a minute.

Sunjy pulled out his PDA, ignoring a little ache in the bottom of his lungs, and typed a quick message to Miss Elizabeth.

_Everyone's out. And it's cold. – S _

He was getting too old for this.

It took a remarkably short time before he heard it; the sound that the muttering of the men had drowned out previously. Now that they were silent, he could hear air moving throughout the room. It was a light hiss, coming from somewhere high up in the ceiling. A familiar pressure began to build in his ears, and Sunjy pinched his nostrils and exhaled.

It took a little longer to regain pressure in the room than it had to release it, and after about two minutes he gave up and took a breath.

The air was thin, very thin, but breathable. His PDA chimed, and he picked it up.

_We're keeping the air pressure low so everyone stays sleeping. Come to corridor NE-2200 – air pressure is normal there. Then Miss Elizabeth says to head for the production Plant room. Thanks! _

_- Millie T. _

Very calmly, taking care to take deep, slow breaths, Sunjy walked over to the door. It opened immediately with a slight whoosh of air, and he stepped out into the secondary hall.

- . -

Doc looked over the scrolling data, keeping his expression mild. He wasn't in one of the observation rooms, of course, so it wasn't as though any of the crew could see his face anymore. But Millie still had her connection to the room open, and he certainly didn't want to make anyone curious or share what he was reading.

Heaven help them if Millie – and her new limb, Knives – had looked this over.

Doc sighed quietly as he went hunting through the file system. It was well-organized; he wished his research was this easy to traverse. And it was a good thing. He couldn't only concentrate on Dr. Shrew's files. Doubtlessly her apprenti-interns, he reminded himself, had been running their own tests. Or crunching data for her while she was looking into other things.

It was a huge amount of information, far more than he could safely send to his ship via a databurst, even if he could find their satellite. And most of it was the crucial information he'd been missing.

Most of it was what they'd done to Vash – and to human subjects – prior to his extraction from the bulb.

Doc didn't watch any of the footage. He could do it via a PDA once they escaped. He merely copied it all into a central folder he'd created at the root of the share, watching the overall size of the data as he continued to add to it. The most recent test results would be a treasure-trove of information, but they didn't have time to wait for that data to be analyzed and output by the applications. They were huge files, and specialized for the hardware on the ship. He copied the raw data anyway, on the off chance Knives had been scrounging or already had a cache of Lost Technology to utilize in Eden.

He certainly wasn't living the life of the content country baron, no matter what the striking engineer had seen. Though he'd never met Knives, he could be certain that Eden was anything but simple.

And in keeping with that theme, there was no telling what he might have installed to keep the pesky humans away. That was a major concern. He doubted they'd get the chance to wake Knives up and ask him, either. Hopefully whatever it was, the presence of Vash – even unconscious – would render it inoperable.

And if it were of the human persuasion, hopefully Elizabeth's men would be able to handle it.

Though again, it was unlikely they would be merely human.

And now was not the time to wonder at the genetic diversity of homo Sapiens on the planet. They would be modified or superior in some way to the normal flavor.

Perhaps tranquilizers were in order.

Doc watched the data copy, grabbing a few extra folders when he saw he had the space without bothering to check their contents. Their label alone made them interesting, and anything even possibly relevant needed to come with him now. He'd never get another chance to get this data, nor ask Dr. Shrew.

Ah, the woman was probably livid right now.

His doors pulled open, revealing the same slender, tall frame they had before. Elizabeth didn't seem surprised to find him where she'd left him. She glanced around the room a moment, then just flashed him a smile and headed towards his bed – and the drawers beneath it. He watched her rummage silently around for a moment before she withdrew several long, slender metal instruments in their sterile plastic and paper. He gave her a questioning look, but she just shook her head.

"I'm going to uninstall Knives – anything I need to know?"

He watched her very carefully for a minute, but she said nothing more. And no matter how he tried, he couldn't figure out why she needed tiny-headed forceps or light clamps. "He's been given a dose of the drug that stimulates activity of his Gate, but the single dose shouldn't do much, particularly if he's actively resisting. His coma in unrelated, and stable. You may treat him like a sedated Plant, but protective clothing will be unnecessary."

She nodded, then hesitated. "How's Vash?"

He pursed his lips. "Stable enough for travel."

She searched his face a moment, and he slightly raised his eyebrows. "I could go into detail if you like, but considering his Gate activity is almost nonexistent, I doubt any of it would be pertinent to one of the most renown Plant engineers of our time."

Elizabeth smiled slightly, and started for the door. "I deserved that."

He suppressed a chuckle. "Telepaths are quite annoying, aren't they."

Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks and actually laughed, cocking her head back to look at him and reminding him how young she was. And so beautiful. It was so sad, that in a world such as theirs, she would have had to become this person just to survive.

"Yes," she agreed wholeheartedly. "I guess I just don't recall Vash-" Her smile slipped a little. "Or if he was reading my mind, he did a bad job."

Doc shook his head slightly, but didn't break eye contact. "Vash doesn't use his telepathy," he assured her softly. "At least, not with humans. He considers it an invasion of privacy."

She opened her mouth, then just closed it with a smile. "I suppose Millie just hasn't had enough practice yet."

Doc inclined his head and closed his eyes in assent, and after a moment the engineer nodded in return, turned on her heels, and headed back out the door.

No, Millie didn't have enough experience to filter things. And the engineer had no experience in hiding them. Luckily, he did.

He glanced at the progress of the file copy, opening a network browsing tool and looking around. The network was completely up and operational, just ignoring all but a few consoles. Knives knew how to cripple a ship well; this was perhaps something he'd picked up over a hundred years ago. It was astonishing that even in a coma, he could give Millie Thompson such exact instructions. That such a complex task was literally so simple he could do it in his sleep.

He burrowed into the Infirmary portion of the tree, looking at the various instruments that had network objects. Incubators caught his eye – doubtlessly the good doctor had done her share of tissue collection and testing. He doubted there was much she could do with those cells besides test further drugs on them, but he drilled down into the objects, opened their Directadmin portals, and set their temperature to maximum. They doubled as dry autoclaves, so the tissue samples would be completely cremated by the time anyone could stop the process.

Anything she put into cryogenics or the refrigerators, though – he'd have to get those manually.

Doc sighed, leaning off the counters and wincing in the anticipation of pain that didn't come. There was just a far-off impression, not the biting, aching thing it should have been, it would be. He'd need to make sure he was careful; an old man could puncture a lung with a free-roaming rib and not even notice with drugs like this.

A quick search of the room turned up a variety of useful drugs, including anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, more painkillers of varying types and strengths, and much to his amusement, calcium supplements. She was looking out for his old, brittle bones. He also netted a very nice, lightweight bag to toss his findings into, and the normal stock of needles in varying bore diameters and volumes.

Having emptied the room of anything useful, he returned to the console. The file copy had finished, and he cleared the screen and pulled up the whiteboard list of admitted patients in the Infirmary. It was pretty short, considering. Knives hadn't really injured anyone but Millie Thompson. Everyone else had been killed outright. G-101A – he assumed the G stood for Gunsmoke – was assigned to Observation One.

He hit a ship schematic and tried to unlock the door, surprised to find he could. Apparently all the consoles she'd left open were logged in as root admin, or at least an administrator of some kind. It saved him from having to bother her, and he brought up the communications window without speaking.

Millie Thompson looked much the same as she had before, though some of her hair was sticking to her face as though it had been pressed there, or perhaps she'd been crying. She was concentrating on something, but her eyes seemed glassy, and her expression slightly dazed. Of course, there was no telling how much effort she was putting forth getting that information from Knives, and he certainly wanted to keep that at an absolute minimum.

He frowned, wondering if he had the time, and then he windowed back to the files he'd copied and opened hers. The latest test results were well-labeled, and he glanced them over before closing the document explorer.

She was making herself worse. Every second she used her newly amplified psionics she was just damaging herself farther.

He sighed and tucked the information to the back of his mind, closing the folder and leaving the communications window up as he simply left the room. He stepped into the hallway, orienting himself with the shape of one Millie Thompson, slouched in a backless stool, bent over her work. Meryl Stryfe was beside her, one hand on her back as if to steady her, and neither girl looked up. He walked about four yarz towards them before making another immediate right into Observation One. It was good to know Meryl was close enough to help him push Vash out, but seeing him would be very hard on that girl. Very hard indeed.

- . -

Aaron Carter stepped into the hallway quickly, noting his body had barely left the doorjamb before the doors automatically pulled shut behind him. The pressure in the room would quickly drop back to whatever they'd determined it needed to be to guarantee unconsciousness, and the brief breath of air that had swept in as he'd left wouldn't be enough, in that large space, to bring them around.

He took the deepest breath he could, exchanging the stored air in his lungs with fresh, and glanced around for a moment before proceeding towards the lift. A glance at his PDA showed him where the free-roaming crew members were, and he was fine until he hit the cold generator level. Timothy and Roman had been kind enough to lend him their firearms, holsters, and spare clips, so on the off chance he encountered conscious crewmembers, the situation would still be salvageable.

"Meet me at the cold generation chamber. –E"

Surely Miss Elizabeth wasn't thinking of extracting Knives? Then again, apparently their plans had changed – radically. He'd been pretty sure he'd been in that storage room because they'd found him out; why else would they be asking him what he thought about large storage security? It wasn't as though their ship was crawling with lazy civilian contractors that couldn't be trusted with the badge on their uniforms, let alone with stock of value.

He attached the thigh holsters as he walked, noting the ship was as creepily still and silent as it had been when they'd originally entered it. It was truly huge; for such a tiny compliment, there was a vast amount of untapped space in the thing. And all of it couldn't have been large equipment storage. Surely they wouldn't have launched a ship not already loaded to capacity with the SEEDs project, unless it had been a last-minute addition?

The lift responded swiftly, and he had just checked to ensure he had a round chambered in each gun before it arrived. A glance at his handheld showed four men in the immediate vicinity of the lift console on level four. Probably trying to make it work. They'd have no display, so they'd have no idea he was about to arrive, but even so . . . he punched the button for the fifth level, which happened to be clear. Since the lift shaft was also completely capable of being sealed, they shouldn't feel or hear the wind of his passage, but there was really no telling.

As the lift doors opened on five, he tapped the door delay twice, then the button for level four, and sprinted for the stairs.

Since the stairs were only designed to be used during fires, power failures or other damages to the ship, there was nothing mechanical about them save their locking mechanism. They were purely manual doors. He yanked them open, unsurprised to find they opened for him, and hurtled through. He tugged them mostly closed before slowing and gently pulling them shut. He didn't want to announce himself, but he had to hurry. Running down a flight of stairs silently in the uniform he'd been issued was all but impossible, so he grabbed the handrails and took the stairs half a flight at a time.

He crouched on the landing, pressed his ear up to the door, and listened – whispers. The lift had beaten him there, and they were determining it was empty.

He drew both weapons, smiling slightly at the irony of using their own trick against them, and used his hip to push the door gently open.

All four of them had surrounded the lift, which was open and waiting. It might even take them to a different floor, though once they got out it would cease to function for them again. Only one of them appeared to be a security guard, and his single weapon was drawn and trained on the empty lift. The other three were science-types, judging by the white coats.

The console was in pieces, so clearly at least one of them had been trying an override of some kind. None of them were paying him the slightest attention.

He moved fully into the hallway, then whistled.

Aaron knew allowing the armed guard to completely turn would be a bad idea. Despite the fact that he was outgunned, he'd probably make the attempt. They had been trained on Earth – which was mindblowing – and had some pretty unusual ideas about what their lives were worth. He would take the shot knowing he would be shot in turn, but in the hopes his shot would take down his attacker.

And that was something Aaron couldn't risk.

His shot caught the man high on his right wrist, forcing his hand open and flinging the gun. Surprisingly, one of the science-types made a run at him, but he merely leveled his other weapon at the woman and she immediately pulled herself back.

So the scientists hadn't been brainwashed by military propaganda. Or at least not when it came to the security of their ship.

The other two had the good sense to merely cringe back, their hands raised, while the guard curled up on the floor, moaning softly and nursing his shattered wrist.

"All of you, over there." He jerked his chin in the direction of a door that probably lead to administrative space. Hopefully he could use his handheld to talk to Millie Thompson, get her to clobber air pressure in there as well. That way they could go ahead and sweep the halls while they were at it. It would make things a little safer. The stair locking mechanism could easily be overridden with a well-placed bullet, and then the loose crew would have the run of the ship as well.

"W-who are you!"

He ignored the question, motioning with the weapons when no one moved. That got their attention; two of them stooped to help their wounded comrade, but the woman that had almost rushed him didn't budge.

"You can't get away with this," she told him in a confident voice, her eyes flashing. "It's only a matter of minutes before this ship will return to crew control, and then-"

"Then we'll be long gone," he assured her in a low voice. "Move."

She stared him in the eye, and he might have been impressed if he didn't have places to go. Did she know what Miss Elizabeth had done? Was she right? Was their control of the ship only temporary? How the hell were they going to extract a Plant in a matter of minutes?

Unless they weren't extracting Knives.

Of course, if they weren't going to actually make it off the ship, he'd have liked a head's up. Dying was not on his day's list of tasks to complete. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let anything happen to her.

The guard behind her moaned again as he was forced to walk, and her iron mask cracked a bit. Reluctantly, she followed her comrades, standing in their line of fire as if to protect them. Obviously she thought he was just moving them into the cubicle farm to get their bodies out of the hall without having to haul them. Every face expressed surprise when he simply waved his hand in front of the access controls and closed the doors.

He holstered one of the pistols, using the PDA to navigate to the room in question. It took him a moment; he really hadn't seen this technology ever, let alone got to interact with it, and was startled when the door suddenly emitted a series of frantic thudding noises.

He backed up a pace, but kept looking for the level. When he finally found it, he noted his mistake.

The room had automatically depressurized as soon as it had closed.

That Millie Thompson was one smart cookie. Automating everything made it a lot easier.

And a lot more dangerous to screw up.

He broke into a light run, watching his PDA specifically for any crew members that had started trying to use the stairs. He saw several grey dots in the control room of the cold generation chamber, but they were flashing, so he assumed they'd already been taken out. It was a good plan, kicking down the air. It would lay everyone out, and give them one hell of a headache, but it beat a gunfight any day.

He jogged through a huge, silent chamber, ending with a sealed door that did not hiss when it opened – still pressurized. That led him into a lab of sorts, and he avoided the main control room, instead heading into the staging room. If Knives the Plant wasn't actually doing his Plant thing, they couldn't really kill him from the control room anyway. It wasn't like you could force a human into a Last Run.

A grey dot appeared in the fourth level corridor, exiting the lift.

Miss Elizabeth had waited for him to clear the halls. Good girl.

She also seemed to be in a hurry, and he watched her progress a moment, scanning to make sure there was no chance of her running into any interference. When he'd satisfied himself that she was safe, he walked across the staging area, waving a hand in front of the security panel into the bulb room itself. The doors slid apart smoothly, and he glanced around.

The bulb was dark, but the indicator lights on the maintenance entrance revealed it was occupied. So they'd tossed him in but he wasn't being useful yet. At least that would make him easy to pull out, if that was actually the plan.

He was getting really interested in hearing what the hell this plan was, and why he'd killed himself giving away all this free advice when the cleverest thing he'd ever done had totally been overshadowed by the girl everyone had said was a human vegetable. What the hell had that Plant done to her?

- . -

**Author's Notes**: Please proceed to the next chapter for Author's Notes.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer in previous chapters. This is a direct continuation of the last chapter.

- . -

Sunjy reminded himself to take deep, slow breaths, trying to suck every molecule of oxygen from the thin air. He'd spent some time in high altitude areas during Miss Elizabeth's soul-searching phase, but it didn't even compare. He was pretty sure anything more than a few minutes in here would pretty much incapacitate him.

The unconscious bodies of the technicians behind him confirmed these suspicions. He was already getting lightheaded and right behind his eyes was beginning to ache.

Luckily, it didn't take long to initiate a maintenance sedation, and it was extremely fast-acting. A few commands and the drugs were administered, and the Plant responded almost immediately. He watched the power levels drop to ensure it was at a constant rate, and then he stepped over one of the fallen Plant technicians and headed back out of the control room, into the small corridor.

Air breezed in as he approached the doors, and he hurried through them, breathing deeply through his nose a few times to get a little more oxygen into his blood. He hung the next right, into the staging area, and located a cleansuit. They were designed for single-person application, though you usually had two technicians going in so it was a little easier to suit up. He frowned at it, eying the equipment and trying to determine what to put on first.

He was getting too old for this.

He began stepping into the suit, then hesitated. If the plan was to uninstall this Plant, it was because they didn't want the ship to have the power to follow them or threaten them, at least until they secured themselves a new one. But were they all going to wear the protective suits as they took the Plant . . . where? Back to one of the cities with an empty bulb? It would make driving the trucks, making fires, even sleeping extremely uncomfortable.

He looked at the suit again, and wondered if they were one-way. He sort of doubted it; whatever material blocked the harmful radiation of the Plant would probably block it whether it was on the inside or the outside of the suit. Why not just put the Plant in the suit, rather than everyone else?

Would she fit, with all those extra limbs and wings? He looked over the racks, locating the largest of the protective suits, and he grabbed it as well. Two of them should be sufficient, if he could just find a way to keep the break between them fastened closed.

Sunjy tapped the access panel and stepped into the bulb room as soon as the energy levels stabilized. Even a Plant sedated for maintenance gave off energy, and technically he was absorbing more than was recommended for a Plant technician, but he never hesitated. He'd probably absorbed twice again what he should have in his lifetime, and the worst complaint he had was that his skin was pretty much like leather now. And that was probably from the suns' radiation, not the Plants'.

And it was ridiculous to think he was going to be able to maneuver the Plant into both suits if he was in one of his own. The gloves didn't offer the dexterity to pull it off.

He circled around to the back of the bulb, climbing the short ladder to the landing just outside the maintenance entrance of the bulb. The hatch was closed, the indicator lights and meters keeping him apprised of the state of the Plant within. Everything looked clean; this Plant had gone down without a fight. Sometimes it took them longer to settle down; then again, this Plant was probably over a hundred years old. They'd taken good care of her, if she was truly from Earth as well.

Sunjy looked over the suits, arranging them in the only configuration that made sense. Most Plants had a full extra set of legs springing out of their backs, so it made sense that that pair of legs would go into the leg-holes of the second suit. That left the entire upper half and sleeves for everything else, which might fit. He knew he could remove some of that extra flesh, but he hadn't brought the right equipment and frankly, 'pruning' the Plants prior to extraction had always seemed a little on the barbaric side to him. He'd seen Vash the Stampede carry out four of them, and none of them had been 'pruned.'

Then again, while he did see a flurry of wings on those Plants, they hadn't seemed to have had enough mass. Perhaps they were able to shed it, or absorb it back into themselves? As of the last update Miss Elizabeth had given them, it was unlikely that the Stampede was going to be able to communicate with his sister Plant.

Oh well. They'd jerryrig it until he recovered enough to do whatever magic it was that he did.

The fronts of the protective suits were specialized zippers with thick panels of the protective fabric both in front of and behind, and he folded those back carefully. Ripping out the bottom of the zipper chain was relatively easy, and he tested the ability of the zipping mechanism to branch across to the two suits.

It was sloppy, and had holes, but for the most part it would do the trick. They could drape another suit over the Plant in the back of the jeep or other stolen vehicle, which would help prevent any stray energy from escaping, and once they had time to sit down he'd stitch something together. He'd had to learn a little tailoring, having protected Miss Elizabeth so long. He hadn't used the skill in quite some time. Doubtlessly Aaron would be highly amused to see him with a needle and thread.

Sunjy laid out the suit, hesitating as the material rustled oddly. Not that he expected it not to, but the pitch of the sound –

He froze, listening to the cooling bulb pinging occasionally, the hum of the lights, the vibrations still coming from the sedated Plant.

The door. He was sure of it.

And if it was Aaron or Miss Elizabeth, they would have called out by now.

Soundlessly the man backed down the ladder, glancing around the bulb room and drawing a borrowed pistol. Despite the fact that the bulb itself was not touching the ground, but rather attached to the wall, there was a plethora of equipment stored beneath it. He could try scurrying under it altogether, but there'd be nowhere to go if he were caught. He couldn't see through the bulb to the other side of the room, so he moved off to his right as quietly as possible.

If he were sneaking up on someone by the maintenance hatch, he'd approach from the left side. The tilt of the bulb in relation to the landing resulted in significantly less inobscured peripheral vision. He was probably dealing with one of the guards that had been loose in the corridor, and that also meant he was probably very lucky the air pressure hadn't plummeted as soon as the soldier had walked in.

He hooked around back to the door – no sign of entry. It was quiet and still. He still hadn't heard so much as a footstep, but seeing as he was able to move silently, it simply meant his opponent was equally skilled.

Or he was getting paranoid.

He moved around the bulb on the left, keeping the gun he'd helped himself to earlier close to his chest. There was no problem with using firearms around a bulb, except they'd shatter the bulb and then the Plant inside might react. Given that it had sedated so neatly, he sort of doubted the danger was any greater than getting cut by falling glass or absorbing a damaging dose of radiation.

Sunjy made it all the way around, back to the maintenance landing, and there was no sign of anyone.

He turned back the way he came, looking not only for bodies but for shadows.

There was nothing there.

He crouched, trying to look between the equipment under the bulb, see if he could spot a pair of feet. It was impossible to tell, though he shifted slightly to his right to get a better look.

"I was afraid we were going to just keep lapping each other."

Sunjy stood very slowly, letting his gun drop to his side. He turned his head slightly away from the bulb, to his left, and made out a shape.

"Drop the weapon, please."

He opened his hand and did so.

"And the other."

Damn.

He turned fully, showing the man both his hands before reaching into his grey uniform and removing the second pistol. This, too, he tossed, in the opposite direction of the first. No matter where he dodged he would still have access to a gun.

If the man noticed, he wasn't particularly concerned. He, too, had a standard-issue gun, and it was trained on Sunjy's head.

"My handheld won't work, as I removed my comm. device." He tilted his head slightly and shrugged. "Might I borrow yours?"

Shit. Giving him access to the network – full administrative access – was not good. Sunjy weighed his options. Give it to him and get shot. Get shot and then have him take it off his dead body. They sounded very much like the same option.

He said nothing, but he did unclip the small grey computer and toss it towards the man. He caught it expertly, without shifting the aim of his weapon, and nodded.

"I respect you," he said, in an assuring voice. "I do apologize for this."

"If you harm Elizabeth, I will come back from death to repay you for it," he responded.

The other man contemplated it, as though it were a serious threat he should take into consideration. After a moment, he replied slowly, "You know as well as I do that I don't have a choice now."

Sunjy took a slow, deep breath.

But the man didn't shoot him.

Instead, he began interacting with the PDA. After a long pause he seemed to come to a decision. "I will give you one chance to ask her to stand down. Choose your words carefully."

He watched the older, balding man's eyes shift to the PDA. He had no doubt he was still being watched, and so much as a twitch would be repaid in lead. Their conversation would be his only chance to go for a weapon, and his odds were terrible.

I'm so sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I'm afraid I _am_ too old for this.

He watched Commander Gray study the PDA, or whatever it was displaying, before he smiled slightly. "Well done," he complimented. "But a little too reliant on technology. For a native of this planet, I'm surprised."

Sunjy remained silent, and after a moment Gray's eyes returned to him. "In fact, it's a little too surprising. Which of your party is responsible for this?" He raised the computer slightly, obviously indicating he was most curious about who had so brilliantly crippled his network.

Sunjy stared at him, keeping his eyes flat, and the commander's lips quirked. "You really are quite loyal to her. Why is that?"

He didn't shift his expression, and after a moment he got what he wanted – an almost dismissive glance back at the computer. That was it. That was his chance –

He'd said that he'd removed his comm. badge and that was why he couldn't use his own handheld. Was that because Miss Thompson had locked him out, or because they really didn't work if they didn't detect a user? Was that to prevent civilians from using the technology, and why they were all issued uniforms? And if he didn't have one –

It meant he was not able to be tracked by the ship. It meant he was freely moving around the ship.

And if he didn't signal to them that he was in danger, there was nothing to stop Gray from simply taking his comm. badge. He'd be tracked by the ship, but as Sunjy Rasse, and he'd continue to have administrative access to the network.

If he made an attempt for a weapon, he'd be shot. The vast majority of the grey dots representing crewmembers were flashing yellow, and they weren't dead, so it stood to reason that the flashing was the badge alerting the system that the wearer was in some kind of physical distress. That would certainly be a warning, and if so, it would need to happen before Gray took the badge from him.

Then again, if the commander was actually going to keep his word, she'd know damn well he'd been caught. And this plan, whatever it was, would probably work better if they could all freely move. Getting shot needlessly was stupid.

Letting Gray use him as leverage over Elizabeth was equally stupid.

He'd hesitated too long. The opportunity was gone. Gray tapped something else into the handheld, then held the computer up slightly. "Let's see if she answers," he murmured.

- . -

"Do you . . .?"

She took a calming breath, staring out the observation window. Staring at it. As though it might give her the answers.

Previous tests showed that, despite the fact she hadn't applied a psionic dampener since G-101B was captured, G-101A's telepathy was not being utilized. Then again, its condition had been all over the board. With no discernable Gate activity at this point, even with the sensors, she could assume that it no longer had any telepathic abilities.

But that was an assumption, based on the admittedly shortening amount of time the inhibiting drugs affected this Plant. She couldn't actually tell if it was using telepathy or not.

She couldn't tell anything at all.

Candice trailed off into silence, and Dr. Shrew frowned. But she didn't turn from the window. "Do I think the Plant locked us in? No. Even if it were capable, it would need to be lucid to comprehend the risk it faced, which it isn't."

She sighed. "Nor has it actually prevented us from carrying out that order," she added quietly.

And it wasn't just the door. Her equipment had stopped responding, her access to the data had been cut off, and her PDA was silent and unable to send messages. She was unable to alert anyone to the problem. As the observation deck faced both Observations One and Two, she could see that both doors were locked, though Two was unoccupied. The quarantine lights weren't flashing. The entire Infirmary was probably locked down, but without the quarantine alert going off through rest of the ship it was probable no one else knew about it yet.

Of course, it was possible the entire ship had been locked down, the production Plant was more than capable of doing so. There was no way for them to tell if this was a localized malfunction or a global one. Responsibly, she'd have to assume the former until the latter seemed likely. The Infirmary was not a place very many people visited during the average operating day, and with G-101B installed in its bulb under the watchful eye of Dr. Greer, there was very little reason for anyone to notice the Infirmary had been locked down for quite some time.

Her only real options for the culprits rested with Meryl Stryfe, Elizabeth Boulaise, and the ever-surprising Doc. Stryfe didn't seem to have the technical know-how, though Boulaise had been a pretty apt student. Doc had lived in a ship such as theirs for most of his life, and seemed the most likely to have masterminded this.

So they had somehow figured out the Plant they were so attached to was going to be destroyed, and they were trying every futile thing they could think of to stop it. Where did they think they could possibly go? The two women were the only mobile ones of their troop. Doc wasn't in any shape to be moving, let alone on his feet, and Thompson might have been capable of walking, but not understanding directions or motives. She'd slow them down far more awake than unconscious.

Not to mention G-101A wasn't in any condition to go anywhere. Nor had anyone entered its room. It lay on the examining table, absolutely still, the equipment that had been examining it reset to its default position over the Plant's feet.

It would only be a matter of time until it was discovered they couldn't be paged, and after that until someone noticed the rooms being locked. They were really in no danger, unless –

Dr. Shrew closed her eyes. There were two security guards in there with them. They were probably with Sam or, more likely, in the lounge. They were there to protect the staff from G-101A, which meant they were bored, but at least they would have the technical know-how – or the guns – required to get themselves free.

Before whoever had locked down the Infirmary found them, and armed themselves.

Unexpectedly, two chimes rang out in the room.

Dr. Shrew glanced down, then picked up her PDA curiously. The message had been a broadcast one, sent with first priority.

"Please go to sleep."

She glanced towards Candice to find the other girl staring at her in confusion. "Go to sleep," she murmured. "I guess we're going to be here awhile."

Please go to sleep. A simple concept, but with the correct syntax and a nod to common politeness. Far too complicated an idea for a Plant. The production Plant was not responsible for this.

Of course, if Doc were to send such a broadcast message – and if it was a broadcast message it went to all handhelds, not just the ones in the Infirmary – it meant the entire ship was either now aware of what he was doing, or the lockdown had affected the entire ship from the beginning.

Please go to sleep. A threat? Was he planning on knocking out the crew? She contemplated the amount of time they'd been locked in the room. Long enough to add some kind of anesthesia to the air handling system, and to knock out the filters? But such a plan would be unwise in the extreme. He'd be trapping himself in the pockets of unpoisoned air, so how would he get off the ship?

What if his goal was not to get off the ship?

What would be his goal?

If they knew G-101A was going to be destroyed in such a short time, why go to all the trouble to do it themselves? That made no sense. Obviously they did mean to get the Plant off the ship –

What if they were going for both Plants? G-101B as well? Extraction from the bulb would be child's play in its current condition.

But how would they subdue the crew between here and there?

Sound was an option as well. Frequency could be used to stun a human being, but god knew what other damage it would do on a ship made of metal. She wasn't sure the handhelds had the power to produce those frequencies, though, and not every crew member used one.

Perhaps it was just a manner of speech that she was unfamiliar with.

Shrew glanced back through the observation window, eyeing her patient. Perhaps Doc meant to use one of the Plants as a weapon, a solution to some of the problems he'd created? If they could do such extended damage to the ship from the outside, there was no doubt they could do the same or worse from the inside.

G101A couldn't, currently, so perhaps that was why no one had bothered to get it yet. G101B, on the other hand, if given enough stimulant, would come out of the coma. And since the inhibitors had been filtered out of its system, there was nothing to prevent it from unleashing the same devastating power it had done during its attack.

And what about her? Follow orders, or try to use the Plant to handle the current situation? If they meant to remove the Plant from the ship, all she had to do was hold its life hostage. She could at least stall them here, even if she couldn't stop them outright.

There was no way they could be allowed to leave with the Plant alive. That was certain. It was so unstable at this point it was a danger to every human on the planet. If its Gate was truly sealed, how long before feedback caused a massive explosion? What would the Plant's disposition be after it awoke? Would it ever be coherent again? Would it still be the more gentle of the twins?

Too many uncertainties. It couldn't be allowed to live.

She happened to be looking into the room, or she never would have noticed the light blink off. The door lock.

It was no longer engaged.

Dr. Shrew moved quickly to her console, taking inventory. She had run redundant shunts in the Plant, and two lines ran from the mechanical pump to the Plant. It was fully stocked with its normal inventory of stimulants, sedatives, inhibitors, and painkillers. The sedatives alone would slow respiration to fatal levels, mixing in the painkillers would only speed the process. She could only guess how long it would take to drain the drugs into the Plant, but less than ten seconds would probably be long enough to give a fatal dose.

And despite the fact that the wireless network was inoperable, she could still send the drugs to the Plant from the hardwired console.

The only thing that would prevent her from being able to administer the drugs would be a complete power failure, and in that case, the doors would unlock. Either was an acceptable outcome. Even if they were able to get the lines out of the Plant in time, with the doors unlocked the two guards would have an opportunity to prevent them from leaving the infirmary.

The twin doors in Observation One pulled open, and she sighed as a familiar form stepped through.

- . -

Elizabeth hurried through the large, empty chamber that separated the lift lobby from the cold generation room. There wasn't a soul moving on this level save a small dot labeled Carter, A. Unfortunately, there were about four people in the control room itself, and they'd have to be either moved or restrained. She wasn't sure she could do what needed to be done in five minutes or less.

Assuming everything went well, it would only take about three. But she'd been involved in enough projects to know you should plan twice as long as it would ideally take, and that was still an optimistic guess.

The doors opened for her, allowing her into the lab area before she went directly for the bulb. Aaron was in the staging room, for some reason – they could probably move the scientists there and depressurize it – but it might not be safe for them there.

The engineer cast around for another other door, a closet, anything – nothing. They could toss them back into the empty chamber, but it would take a long time to drop pressure there, and as that chamber also shared a wall with the hull, she wasn't sure how if it connected to a maintenance corridor that would have to be lessened as well.

That was bad planning – if the hull were compromised there, the people in this wing of the ship would be trapped. Then again, it was a cold generation room, which meant a prep room and secondary generation room. There was probably a way around the nose of the ship.

There had to be someplace to tuck those scientists. Then again, they didn't have much time to look. They could always tie them up.

She cast one last glance around the labs before she waved a hand in front of the sensor and opened the door to the staging room. Aaron was standing there, leaning casually on the wall with his normal, neutral expression. She smiled tightly, and he nodded.

"Plan changed."

"I gathered," he rumbled in that noncommittal tone of his. It was hard to tell if he approved or not. "What are we doing?"

"Lowering containment on this bulb. I'll need more than five minutes in the control room." She headed immediately to one of the storage bins in the room and started rifling through. It took a minute, but eventually she located a length of tubing, coiled neatly, and slung it over her shoulder.

"We could always put them in here."

"Not safe," she answered over her shoulder, heading out. There was no sound of him following, but she'd lived far too long with Sunjy to question whether or not he was right behind her. She usually wore high heels, and it was almost always her intent that they announce her arrival rather than hide it. The combat style boots she wore now seemed flat and wrong on her feet.

They did, however, have excellent traction. They also kept her feet warm, which was important on a cold metal ship made all the colder by the PSI shifts.

She tapped her PDA, bringing up the ship's structure and locating the control room. It was a simple command to increase air pressure in the room, and they entered as soon as pressure equalized.

She handed the coil of tubing to Aaron, who immediately unwound a length and headed for the technicians. Unsurprisingly, one of the unconscious was none other than Dr. David Greer, still in the bulb attitude chair. She didn't recognize the other three technicians, which meant it was another team – the point had been to make Knives a production Plant, hadn't it? Why would he switch out the team that actually had gotten the experience with Vash?

Slightly unnerved, she glanced at the console. Every light was dead; of course, she growled at herself, and eyed her PDA. Millie had written a routine to change the PSI in all the chambers, but she hadn't indicated how the consoles could be allowed access to the network.

And now was not the best time to ask her, lest she question why.

Elizabeth stared at the console for a moment before trying a reboot. Power was steady, but when it came back up it was as worthless as before. Elizabeth swore quietly and sent a quick message to the Infirmary console.

_Please give me full control of the computers in the cold generation control room. I need it to uninstall Knives. – E _

She waited impatiently, glancing at the dark bulb through the glass. Doc had said Knives was uninhibited but in a coma, and he'd been given a stimulant. Then again, the plan had also been to keep Knives in a coma even as they forced him to manifest into a fully-fledged Plant. Obviously they felt Vash being conscious had had a negative impact on efficiency.

Or they were terrified of what Knives would do, once they handed him exactly the kind of power he'd need to destroy them.

Then again, as strong as Vash had to have been to level July, and even stronger to blast a hole in the fifth moon, she really didn't know if they could overpower the bulb system. That was one thing the Earth humans that had designed the Plants had done well; designed the container to withstand many times the amount of energy that would be released within it. Then again, Plants defied physics as they knew them, so there was nothing saying the high levels of the more complex energies that Vash and probably Knives released wasn't the kind that could cause the bulbs to turn into blankets.

There was nothing saying a conscious Knives couldn't get himself out of a bulb.

But Vash couldn't.

Then again, Vash wouldn't be willing to go to the same lengths that Knives would.

Would he?

She'd seen what footage they'd had. How frantically he'd reacted, nearly breaking the bulb with his bare hand. An extremely high-tech piece of glass that could absorb kinetic energy, nearly broken by the force of Vash's blows against it. He had been desperate to get out of that bulb, and the most likely reason was that he knew once he succumbed, there would be no stopping his brother.

Vash had tried damn hard to get out of that bulb.

But he hadn't used his Plant abilities to do it. He'd done everything he could to avoid using them. Knives wouldn't be so polite.

There was no point in doubting what she was about to do.

The console blinked to life, and she immediately went over the readings. Very little in the way of Gate energy, but some. Knives was not inhibited, and was probably releasing the same amount of energy a humanoid Plant did on a normal basis. It was .02, which was extremely hard to detect, but it would be enough.

After all, once you lowered the inner bulb containment to .00, point oh two would be more than enough to break it.

And the safeguards Dr. Greer had been bright enough to place around the valve of the bulb would take care of the problem of leaving an intact Plant corpse behind.

Aaron grunted as he heaved Dr. Greer out of the chair, and she cast a glance behind her. The other three were neatly trussed and laid out on the far wall. One of them was starting to nod her head slightly, but the others were still out cold. They weren't a threat, and she had already noted the weapons Aaron had confiscated.

She turned back to the console. "Brace yourself," she warned him, and put her fingers on the slide meters that maintained containment in the inner bulb.

"Should the inner bulb reach a certain level of containment stress," Greer had said. Negative stress had to meet that criteria.

She pulled them down slowly to nothing, and squinted her eyes in anticipation of the explosion.

A second passed. Another.

"For what?" Aaron asked dryly.

"Shit," she muttered, glaring at the console. The numbers were exactly what she expected. Inner bulb containment had failed. Outer bulb containment was taking up the slack, so she lowered that to zero as well.

Nothing.

"So much for safeguards," she growled, and eyed the bulb again. The inner bulb could be accessed relatively easily, so she could just go in there and check to ensure someone didn't trip over something when they installed Knives – then again, she had little experience with laying explosives.

"Dr. Greer said the engineers installed explosives at the valve of the inner bulb, to incinerate the Plant should power levels exceed a certain point. Apparently it failed."

Aaron came to stand next to her, closing a pocketknife and tucking it into his back pocket. "I take it we're not uninstalling the Plant, then."

She smiled grimly. "He destroyed July. He wasn't the bomb, but he pushed the button."

Aaron said nothing, but headed immediately for the door. She glanced at him with an arched eyebrow, and he seemed to sense the look, because he turned back to her as he reached the doors.

"I assume you want me to double-check the explosives. You are going to wait to detonate until after I'm clear, right?"

"Don't blow yourself up," she retorted, raising the containment fields around both the inner and outer bulbs back to about twenty percent.

"W-what . . . are you doing?"

She glanced back at the speaker, the female technician. Her eyes were glassy but she was taking deep, slow breaths. So she'd figured it out. Hell, the sudden drop in pressure and the cold had likely tipped her off.

"Why isn't the team that worked with G-101A working this installation?"

The technician blinked a few times, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're the civilian engineer, aren't you."

"Answer my question," Elizabeth snapped, hoping a little authority would make the military woman respond without thinking.

"Answer mine," the other woman bit back. "How the hell did you do this?"

Oh, a feisty one. Maybe they'd deliberately kept her away from all the abrasive technicians while Gray tried to manipulate help out of her. Maybe this technician – the entire room, really – _had_ been the team to originally work on Vash. After all, they didn't arrive until Vash had already been successfully installed and producing power. Maybe Greer had a different team to maintain the Plants, that she just hadn't run into because they didn't let her around the production Plant?

Elizabeth smiled coldly. "I'm sure your network technicians will be able to figure it out eventually."

The technician openly glared. "What are you doing?"

She turned dismissively, noting the other technicians – and Dr. Greer – were starting to stir. "Ending your project prematurely."

Aaron was now in the bulb room, and she watched his progress up the ladder to the maintenance landing. The console recorded his entrance into the outer bulb, and she watched the power levels. It was extremely doubtful that Knives would react to the intrusion, but it didn't hurt to keep an eye on him. A maintenance sedation now would probably kill him, if he were really already in a coma, but unfortunately it would make it a lot harder to break containment levels. Dead Plants didn't generate a lot of power.

"No!" the technician suddenly cried, and Elizabeth could hear the woman struggling with her bonds. "You're going to artificially blow containment!"

She felt a smile crossing her face, and after a moment she stopped fighting it. "Yes, I am," she admitted.

She was going to kill the man – he didn't deserve to be called a Plant – that had killed her parents. That had killed countless others. That had caused them all to be stuck on this rocky planet in the first place. Instant incineration was too kind a fate for such evil. She almost wished he was awake to be aware of it.

Vash would doubtlessly be disappointed in her.

Actually, Vash was probably going to be quite put out with her, she reflected as a light blinked, indicating the inner bulb had been opened. He wouldn't kill her, certainly, but he would be very sad.

They were exactly what Knives had apparently labeled them.

And if she thought about that long enough it would probably bother her. So she didn't.

"Stop!" the technician shouted, when she couldn't get free. "Are you insane?"

Elizabeth turned and glared coldly at the struggling woman. "Not as insane as someone that would knowingly experiment on someone as powerful as Knives! If ever there was a Plant that could break a bulb, it's this one!"

"It's the only healthy one left!" she retorted. "If you incinerate it, then any chance we have at breeding more-"

"Why would you want to?" Elizabeth couldn't keep the incredulousness out of her voice. "Would you put your own child into a bulb?"

The woman's face positively dripped scorn. "They're not people-"

"Say that after you've had dinner with one," she snapped, and glanced back at the console as it clicked, indicating the inner bulb had been secured again. It only took a few seconds for Aaron to back out of the inner bulb, and he was frowning. She hit the toggle switch that activated the intercom.

"Well?"

"Cut," he replied grimly. "It'll take me thirty minutes to re-wire this stuff. It's a no go."

Elizabeth blinked, taken aback. "By cut, you mean on purpose?"

He nodded once, then crossed his arms. He didn't have to ask.

Now what?

Her PDA chimed, and she reached for it unconsciously. A glance told her Sunjy was requesting a video conference. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope it was to tell her he'd successfully uninstalled the production Plant. Having to take Knives off the ship alive was bad enough, but if they wasted much more time –

She opened her eyes and tapped accept. Then she nearly dropped the handheld.

"You've broken the conditions of our contract, Miss Boulaise."

Shit.

The dead commander was alive and well. And using Sunjy's PDA, which meant –

She schooled her face instantly into her usual negotiating expression. "You're looking well for being dead, Commander Gray."

His lips quirked. "You noticed. I find it's easier to move about quietly without a tag."

"A bit harder to interact with the ship, though. Where is Sunjy?"

The commander actually smiled, looking for all the world like the kind, balding gentleman that had met them so congenially just days ago. "He's very concerned for your safety. You are to be commended for commanding such loyalty."

She didn't rise to the bait, and his smile faded a bit. "Your plan was quite good. A bit more advanced than I would have expected from you. Well done."

The praise was starting to unnerve her. If he had Sunjy's PDA, he could have done any manner of things – but he couldn't. He wasn't really any better than she was with the systems. He knew their capabilities, which she didn't, but he'd relied on Greer, Phillip, and Asoaurd to manipulate the displays and routines. He probably couldn't undo what Thompson had done, even though he had rights. He could have released a significant number of soldiers, though –

No, he couldn't have done that either. Surely Millie would have noticed if a series of rooms began to depressurize.

But then again, he'd just announced himself. Which probably meant Captain Faber was also alive and well. He'd fooled his comm. badge into thinking he was dead. They worked by proximity, which meant you could take off your uniform and take a shower without a problem, but if you moved a certain amount of distance from it –

But surely it would know you'd just left it in your quarters, and not alert the medical staff every time that happened? Perhaps he'd put or wrapped it in something that had simulated fading life signs rather than distance.

But without a badge the ship shouldn't respond to him at all. The doors shouldn't have opened for him. Sunjy's PDA should have shut dow-

Which meant Sunjy was still alive and well. If he were dead, the PDA would shut down to save power and prevent civilian users from accessing things they shouldn't be. It also would have alerted Millie just as the system had done for Faber and Gray.

"I'm glad you like it," she murmured. "Was there something you wanted, Commander?" Might as well get on with the asking her to stop by threatening Sunjy's life. Which she would do. If nothing else, Aaron could still shoot Knives and they'd pretend she hadn't been able to give him the order to stop before he did it.

No, on second thought they couldn't do that. Not with the five witnesses overhearing the conversation.

Bryan's face settled into the same look he'd worn during Knives' attack. "You've already given it to me," he admitted, a little wearily. "And you've long passed the point of negotiation."

"Don't," she responded immediately. "Don't even think about it." He studied her through the vid feed, and she let her eyes flash. "You start killing my people, I'll have no reason not to return the favor." She could do a lot of damage and he knew it. She could force Knives into a Last Run if she needed to, before he could get a sizable force to this side of the ship. Surely he wouldn't throw away an opportunity to avoid that -

"Of course you will," he replied after a time, unblinking. "You're not a killer, Ms. Boulaise. Your people are the larger threat."

The gunshot was muffled-sounding, but it still made her jump. Her view shifted from Gray's face to the ceiling, and seemed to pull away before the PDA landed with a thud on an unsteady surface.

"I promised your man I'd give him one chance to talk you down," his voice came over the speaker. The view of the ceiling kept shuddering, rising and falling unsteadily. "You have about a minute."

She stared at the PDA in shock.

He couldn't have. He just couldn't have –

There was a much deeper, muffled sound, she couldn't make it out but she would have recognized it in her sleep.

". . . Sunjy . . ."

He repeated the sound. It was guttural, she had no idea what he was saying. The ceiling was starting to shake a little more violently, as though the PDA were lying on the floor of a control room during a linked coupling failing.

Gray shot him. Sunjy had really been shot. Then Bryan had tossed the handheld onto him and just walked away.

Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the handheld, transfixed by the sight. He was across the ship, she couldn't get to him without running into someone. Thompson had locked all the doctors in the Infirmary, but they'd at least be able to respond, maybe save him –

"Go." The voice was finally intelligible. "Go."

"No!" She didn't dare close the communication, instead placing the PDA onto the console and using the messaging application there.

_Sunjy's been shot. Escort Shrew t_

" Elizabeth, what are you doing?" That came over a different speaker, and she blinked as she realized it was Aaron.

The intercom had been on. He'd heard the whole thing.

"Need to get him a doctor-"

" Elizabeth, that's what Gray wants." Aaron said it quickly. "He didn't negotiate with you because he knows you're not the one that took everything down."

She stared out the glass at him in shock. He was watching the observation window, his face deadly serious. "He knows it the same way I knew it. He's heading there right now to take out Doc. There's not enough time."

No. He couldn't have figured it out that fast. He just couldn't -

It didn't matter. They had to get Sunjy medical attention.

"G-go," the handheld repeated.

"No," she whispered. "No. I won't."

_-to production Plant. – E_

She sent the message, ignoring movement in her peripheral vision. All she could do was stare at the screen.

"Help's on the way," she assured it, and took a shaky breath. "Hang on."

"S-stup-id."

The ceiling was shaking less often.

The door opened, but she didn't pay any attention to it.

"Don't you dare, Sunjy." Her voice sounded all wrong, and she swallowed down a sob. "Don't you dare."

There was a hiss, that trailed off into a moan. Then another, but like the first few words, she couldn't make it out.

"No," she whispered.

The ceiling shuddered violently, seeming to grow closer before sliding dizzyingly sideways, ending in the joint of the wall and the grated floor.

Then the vid link disconnected.

- . -

**Author's Notes:** Please proceed to the next chapter for Author's Notes.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer in previous chapters. In which the escape attempt is completely resolved.

- . -

Doc entered the room, noting the layout and inventorying the equipment mentally. All of the instruments that had copied data to the folders he'd found were present, including the electromagnetic imager poised over Vash. So she'd been taking pictures with the expensive equipment.

And he hadn't missed any data. That was important.

Besides the imager, which was over Vash's feet, the same life-support equipment was present. That probably meant the woman had restocked the drawers in the base of the examination table, which would save him having to hunt through the pharmacy to get some of the more specialized drugs. He'd been the one to recommend the PSI levels for the incapacitated crew, and he knew better than anyone that they didn't have much more time before the crew began to suffer permanent damages from oxygen deprivation.

He'd already looked; Millie hadn't depressurized any parts of the Infirmary. It was probably a good thing; with as many pressurized gases as could be found in a medical facility, they'd have had explosions on their hands. Lowering the ambient air pressure would have been the same as taking a fully filled tank of oxygen, nitrogen, or fluoride and essentially pumping in twice again what the container was rated for.

But that also meant that all the doctors, nurses, and any security guards were conscious and actively attempting to escape.

He spared a glance for the observation window, not at all surprised to find two women staring at him. The younger woman was further back, but Shrew was seated at her console, an odd look somewhere between sadness and anger on her face.

So she knew he was there to take Vash. Her patient. Her chance to study humanoid Plants. Dying ones.

There was a click as she toggled on the intercom. "You're as terrible a patient as you are a collaborator."

He offered her a light shrug. "To be honest, I haven't actually looked over my own chart yet," he admitted. "I suspect it would dishearten me."

"You would be right," she agreed. "Though I can almost guarantee that if you remain here you can retain some portion of the limb."

He shook his head, continuing into the room. Her sharp voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"That's far enough."

Doc glanced up at her again, surprised to see her expression had settled on anger. "Another step and I will euthanize the Plant."

He was about to ask her how, when he took another look at the equipment. That old-fashioned pump she'd had, that she'd used to fill him full of drugs when he'd awakened –

But the network was down. She couldn't trigger it wirelessly, even if it was configured for it.

He studied the pump carefully, noting the twin IV lines that ran from it to Vash's chest. Directly into major blood vessels. That guaranteed that his normal blood flow would swiftly pull the contents of the lines into his bloodstream, and it would hit a vessel capable of handling that flow.

"This console is hardwired to the pump," she answered his unspoken question. "It has nothing to do with the main network."

Doc remained where he was, weighing his options. He could always leave the room and ask Millie to take care of the two women, but the moment he left she might anticipate that and kill Vash anyway. Eventually Millie or Meryl would come in to find out what was taking him so long, but they'd be trapped in the same situation.

Except they'd have two hands, so they could catch the two IV lines. At that point they could just rush the pump and try to beat the drugs in.

"The longer you delay me, the longer the rest of the ship suffers from hypoxia." He spoke clearly, modulating his tone to keep it dry. He wanted to lecture her, not threaten her. "I'm fully prepared to keep them out for however long it takes, but currently the majority of the crew has about ten more minutes before convulsions and coma set in."

It was hard, from this distance, to tell her expression. However, it didn't seem to brighten considerably, so he was going to assume that she was not happy with the news. "You cut off their air?"

"Lowered pressure," he replied. "Come to think of it, frostbite might also be a problem. Eventually the crew will die. And there is no chance of them mounting a significant resistance. You're on your own, doctor."

The young woman behind Shrew shifted, but the older woman made no movement. "And where do you think you can take this Plant? Back to your ship?"

He allowed himself a small smile. "Recapture would defeat the purpose of leaving," he noted quietly. "Please, Marguerite. You know as well as I do that he's dying. Let him end his life among friends."

The doctor laughed throatily. "Ah, now you're polite. If only I'd known this was all it took."

He didn't reply, and after a moment her expression settled. "As you say, the Plant is dying. Even in this environment. Without equipment, you have no hope of saving its life."

Doc said nothing, just watched her. She'd taken a huge personal risk on behalf of this Plant. Surely she'd finally learned enough. She'd seen him from the inside out, she couldn't deny now what he was. A cogent being, fully self-aware. Surely she knew now killing Vash would be murder.

"Release the ship."

He shook his head. "No," he answered. "I will not allow you to use Vash as a negotiating point." If they stopped now, everything was for naught. Not to mention Knives probably wouldn't let Millie surrender, and much as he wasn't going to tell Dr. Shrew, Thompson was really running the show.

She seemed to contemplate his words a moment. "Then it's in my best interest to obey orders," she responded. Even before she was finished speaking, he heard the click of the pumps.

Damn that woman.

He rushed over to the mechanical pump, grabbing the first IV line as close to the shunt as possible. He bent it in half between his forefinger and thumb, then lowered his mouth and pinched the fold between his teeth. Then he reached over Vash's closed eyes and grabbed the other line, folding it similarly.

He wasn't sure how much the drugs entered, but it certainly wouldn't have been enough to kill him. A few tense seconds later, the life support equipment confirmed that by showing steady vitals.

"Now what?" Dr. Shrew's voice came over the intercom. "Wait for someone else to check on you? I certainly hope they do so before you faint."

He was bent at a rather stiff angle, as his teeth were almost touching Vash's chest. And she was right; the blood was rushing to his head. Probably the painkillers she used were accentuating that effect.

If he fell now, it was over. The drugs were already in the lines. She couldn't take back what she'd done.

The shunts were basically a wide-bored needle tied directly to a major blood vessel. If he ripped one out, there'd be a very real threat of significant blood loss. As tenuous as Vash's current condition was . . . and he was probably still under the effect of the inhibitors he'd gotten when he'd regained consciousness all those hours ago. Significant blood loss would only worsen him.

Doc closed his eyes, willing his inner ear to settle down, then laid his head gently on Vash's chest.

The Plant didn't respond.

He rested some of his weight on the Plant, in the hopes it would lessen his blood pressure a little bit, and opened his eyes. He pulled the IV line he was holding in his left hand into sight, then he began to slowly work the fold down the line. He'd grabbed it a few inches above the shunt in his rush, and if he could just milk that fold down a little bit –

Of course, if it slipped, he was pulling the drugs directly to Vash. If he let go, there'd be no delay.

The dizziness seemed to be helped a little bit, though his angle was a bit odd, and kept changing as the Plant breathed beneath his cheek. He could hear Vash's heart beating, steadily and slowly. Such a change from yesterday, that peaceful, distress-free sleep would seem to almost anyone an improvement.

If only it was.

Ever so slowly he worked the fold down, until his thumb bumped the shunt trough itself. The IV line actually ended in a needle, which had punctured the well of the shunt and led to the wider-bored needle that was actually inserted under his skin. Usually they just twisted apart, but usually you also added or removed a line from a shunt with two hands. One to hold the shunt steady, the other to twist the line.

He had one hand, and currently his two most nimble fingers were pinching the line closed.

He twisted his right hand awkwardly, listening to his wrist pop as he tried to take the fold away from his thumb and forefinger with his pinkie and fourth finger. He managed it, but those fingers shook with the pressure of keeping it. If they slipped apart –

As quickly as possible, he braced his remaining three fingers on the joint of the line and shunt, and twisted for all he was worth.

It nearly wasn't enough; he didn't have the freedom to roll the line up his fingers, since his hand position was the only thing keeping his pinkie and fourth finger holding the fold. But with a satisfying click the plastics came free, and he dropped the line. It dribbled a few drops of the drugs, but without a bloodstream to pull it from the IV line it eventually stopped.

Which was unfortunate. It could have emptied the drugs she'd released if it had kept leaking.

This time he had one entire hand to dedicate to pulling free the line, and it was significantly easier. However, he couldn't see what he was doing. As soon as he heard the telltale click he spat out the line, watching as it too oozed impotently for a moment before stopping.

Both the shunts were still intact. There was no bruising to indicate that he'd done any internal damage to the vessels, either.

He didn't even bother to glance up at the observation window as he detached the blood gases gauge, the catheter, and the rest of the equipment from Vash. Doc tried not to let the sudden squawk of the heart monitor stab him in the gut. He turned it off immediately, giving Vash a once-over.

The shunts would have to stay in, and it wouldn't do to allow Meryl to see him like this. He was fairly certain the woman had seen enough of Vash to expect the implants, as she had cared for him on more than one occasion when he was unconscious. However, the young woman had more than enough on her plate worrying about Miss Thompson. He wasn't going to give her more reason to fret over Vash than he had to.

At least, not until it could no longer be avoided.

Doc cast around, shuffling through the drawers in the base of the table before finding a light blanket. This he threw over Vash, covering him to his shoulders. It would also serve to protect him from the sun, depending on what kind of vehicle Elizabeth had commandeered for their escape.

"It's dangerous like this, and you know it." Dr. Shrew sounded terribly disappointed with him. "How dare you risk another city by taking it there-"

"I agree," he interrupted her, crouching slowly and dropping more drugs into the bag he'd found. "I won't risk any more lives than I have to caring for him."

When he was satisfied that he'd taken everything necessary, including modified inhibitors, stimulants, the painkiller and sedative cocktail, and two of just about everything else, he stood slowly, looking around before noting that the examination table was actually on wheels. He walked around it a moment, inspecting the base for a foot-activated brake, and located it near Vash's feet. He hit it, but it was as he expected – the bed weighed more than he was willing to push.

"Be careful," he heard her say as he walked out of the doors, sticking his head into the main hallway.

"Miss Stryfe? Might I borrow you for a moment?"

- . -

Millie stared at the screens, waiting quietly for her fingers to start moving again. It was getting easier, and as she noted where each finger was, and what it typed, and what the reaction on the screen was, she was slowly starting to figure out the computer systems. She'd figured out a little while ago how to put the names to the dots in all the PDA displays of a certain resolution, and she was pretty sure it hadn't been Knives' doing.

Of course, it was kind of hard to tell. She was feeling more nauseous by the minute, and the pure joy she'd felt at finally being able to do something helpful had faded very quickly to exhaustion. The fact that she was getting better at identifying which waves of emotion were her own, and which were Knives', worried her. She was starting to think that she felt sick because he did.

Then again, she'd been given a lot of drugs over the past few days, and it felt like every time she slept she ended up struggling through that horrible burnt city, so she was never rested when she woke.

She was going to make a mistake. Like that unfortunate typo in the Ashe-Berger contract, where she'd accidentally written entire sentences that made perfect sense in context with the dialogue between the stuffed couch and the flower in the vase. Only this time it was bigger than a single contract.

People were going to be killed. Some of them already had.

She swallowed down a vindictive satisfaction, instead centering on her own sadness. Sempai seemed certain that Private Asoaurd hadn't been the responsible party, and unfortunately he'd run from the commander's quarters before she had locked the ship down and lowered the air pressure. He was loose in the halls, and on her downtime she'd been watching him. He'd been one of the first crewmembers to figure out that he could use the stairs, shortly after Mr. Carter had done so to sneak up on some people.

She was having a little bit of trouble keeping everyone straight. There were so many dots that were flashing, and now and then an alert would pop up, one of the blocked pages to the Infirmary indicating dangerously low pulse or blood pressure. She couldn't keep everything here forever. People were getting sick.

She bit her bottom lip, looking around the schematics for cars. Or jeeps. Or trucks, or even buses and sandsteamers. They'd have to drive away, and Mr. Knives had blown up Miss Elizabeth's jeep, so only their truck would be parked outside and it wouldn't be big enough for everyone. Unless they all sat in the bed, and then where would the production Plant go?

She frowned at another alert that popped up, staring at it for a long time before the name Rasse, S. caught her attention. Wasn't that Mr. Sunjy's last name . . .?

She shifted to that window, reading it by dragging her eyes over it without trying to look at the numbers themselves. Knives seemed to recognize words and numbers better that way, like he knew the shape and didn't have to look at all the letters to figure out what the word was.

But then she didn't need any help translating what it said.

A blinking light on the bottom right-hand corner of the screen popped up, flashing a little text box that was partially see-through.

_Sunjy's been shot. Escort Shrew to production Plant. – E_

Millie gasped, and Meryl was instantly beside her. Her partner kept a hand on her, as though she thought she were going to suddenly fall over. It had been annoying her very much, but now it was a comfort.

"Sempai! Mr. Sunjy's been shot!"

Meryl leaned in, staring at the screens as though she knew what they meant.

"How do you know?"

"Miss Elizabeth said," she wailed, pointing at the message. "And he's hurt real bad!"

She was in the process of unlocking the observation deck when another alert took the cursor away from her.

It was the same as Commander Gray's and Captain Faber's.

It said that there were no life signs.

It said that he was dead.

She stared dumbly at it for a moment, tears springing to her aching eyes. Oh, no. That wasn't supposed to happen at all. He seemed like such a nice man, she'd met him before at the plants and that just couldn't be right!

She pulled up the video grid, absolutely certain that there would be a camera in the main bulb room. She'd just look, is what she'd do. Maybe he had to pull off the comm. badge, and it got damaged and thought he was dead when he'd just left it on the ground.

She found that there were in fact four cameras, and she brought all of them up by tapping them. She made them as big as she could on the screen, taking up all of it, and stared until the pixels didn't even look like anything anymore.

Or maybe that was because she couldn't see through her tears.

Only one of the views showed him. He was lying on his back, almost under the bulb. There was no blood that she could see, but the floor was grating and it would just drip through and so she wouldn't see it unless it was on his grey uniform –

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, blinking again. There . . there was blood on his uniform.

He was really dead.

A box appeared, showing that it was starting an audio only communication with a handheld.

"Doc, Thompson, Stryfe, you there?"

"We're here, Aaron," Meryl answered. Millie was glad; she didn't think she could talk right then. How . . . ? How could anyone have done that? She hadn't seen anyone near the production Plant room, and she'd been supposed to be watching –

She'd just missed it. And he'd died. He'd been killed because she hadn't been watching.

"Commander Gray is on his way to you. Do not open the door."

Millie stiffened. No, that wasn't right –

"Aaron, Gray is dead." _Please, let him be dead._ Meryl sounded worried.

"That's what Elizabeth thought too," Aaron replied. His voice sounded strained. "He wounded Sunjy to force you to let one of the doctors out and open the door."

_Wounded? Oh, god, he doesn't know?_ Meryl steeled herself, apparently to give Mr. Carter the news. ". . . Aaron . . . "

"Don't send anyone. He's dead."

Millie squeezed her eyes shut. But how? He was dead like poor Captain Faber . . . She opened her eyes again, blinking out the tears and pulling up the camera list again. The commander's quarters did have a camera, so she pulled it up.

It was also black and white, and showed a conference table and a little bit of the surrounding room. A uniformed man was sprawled on the table, bent at the waist. There was a dark puddle of blood beside his head, which looked weirdly shaped –

Millie clicked the image away, swallowing around her nausea. So Captain Faber really was dead –

But if Terry hadn't had time to kill him, and Commander Gray was alive, did that mean that Commander Gray had killed Captain Faber? But . . . it looked a little like he'd shot himself. Why would he do that? And then had Commander Gray done something to his comm. badge to make it think he was dead too?

That meant he could wander around the ship and she'd never know where he was. She hadn't seen him enter the Plant room because there had been nothing to see.

_Terry concentrated on his little grey computer, and Bryan tapped his table. "I see," he murmured. "Then where are they?" _

_Meryl didn't make the leap, and she stared as the bald man glanced up at Dr. Greer. "Can you display anyone bearing one of our comm. units as a different color than the other humans? I realize it's two different systems –" _

_Dr. Greer was already at work. "A moment." _

Millie blinked, trying to see through the memory. It was – Meryl's memory, she decided, because just then Meryl spoke.

"Millie, back when Knives was attacking us-"

She just nodded. "There's a system that shows you where humans are even if they aren't crew."

Millie felt a brief wave of consternation from her sempai, but it faded quickly as Millie poised her hands over the keyboard again. As before, her fingers started moving, and she let them, shifting them where it felt right to, just like typing what you saw. Your fingers knew which letter was where and they just typed them, even if you didn't understand or couldn't pronounce or spell the words you were reading. It was just an automatic thing. If she didn't think about it too hard, it was fine –

Her fingers fumbled, and she suppressed a sob. No, it had to work, it had to keep working because if it didn't then she couldn't find him and –

And she was panicking. It was something Mr. Knives would never do.

And neither would Mr. Priest.

She could almost see him in her mind, leaning over her other shoulder, staring at the computer with a crumpled cigarette between his lips.

Millie took a breath, and tried to calm down. They could grieve for Mr. Sunjy later. If they didn't stop Commander Gray, then more people would get shot.

Like . . . her.

He was coming to kill her.

Because she was the one that had taken the ship away from him.

She suddenly looked up at Meryl, not surprised to see the other woman was staring at her. "Millie," she began soothingly, "it wasn't your fau-"

"We need guns," she interrupted bluntly. "Do you know where my stun-gun is?"

The shorter woman blinked, obviously taken aback by the change in subject. "I don't think you had it when you came here, did you?"

Millie winced at her stupidity. Of course. Her stungun was back in New Phoenix. She'd have to-

She'd have to use a real gun.

Millie turned back to the monitor as her fingers stopped typing, and she saw the ship schematic. Only it looked exactly like it had before. Lots of flashing yellow-grey-yellow-grey dots, and a couple yellow dots that were Elizabeth and Aaron and –

And them. And that was it.

Because Mr. Sunjy was dead.

"Where's Doc?"

She'd forgotten the audio link was still open with Aaron. She could see his dot, he was in the cold generation room with Mr. Knives. But Miss Elizabeth wasn't . . . Millie found her after a moment, in the lift.

"Where's Miss Elizabeth going by herself?" she almost yelped. "I can't find the commander yet."

"Have you started the other scanning system?" Aaron didn't even sound irritated that they hadn't answered him.

She nodded, then shook her head. "Yes," she finally said, knowing he couldn't see either movement.

"Pipe it to my handheld. He's got to be somewhere between the main bulb room and your position. Stryfe?"

"Yes?"

"Thompson was right. Go find a gun. Are there any guards in the Infirmary? I don't want you unlocking that door."

Meryl cast a look around, but didn't budge from her spot. Of course, because she didn't have her own computer so she could only look at what Millie herself was looking at, and she was looking for a non-flashing dot -

"Where's Miss Elizabeth going?" Millie repeated. "Why did you let her go-"

"She's gone to uninstall the production Plant." He made an oofing noise, like someone had dropped a sack of rice on his shoulder. "That's why we need to find Gray now."

"I don't know if there are any guards here," Meryl said, keeping her voice businesslike. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying one heavy son of a bitch," he replied, but his voice was without anger. "I'm coming to you. Stay put. If you need to, get out of the main hallway and hide."

Millie just stopped. "But, Mr. Aaron, Sunjy's in there. Miss Elizabeth is going there all alone?" she heard herself whisper.

There was another expelling of air, again reminding Millie of catching something heavy. "It couldn't be helped," he finally ground out. "Unless one of you knows how to extract a real Plant. Can Doc cover it?"

Millie winced. "He can't," she told him. "He's too old, and he only has one arm now-"

"What?"

Meryl made an impatient noise. "Aaron, get here as soon as you can. I'm going to update Doc and find a gun, then go help Elizabeth."

"NO. Do _not_ open the door."

"You'll have to open the door to get in." Meryl was starting to sound cross.

"I'll shoot him before I come in," he replied matter-of-factly.

Meryl rolled her eyes. _Men._

"Miss Stryfe? Might I borrow you for a moment?"

Millie blinked, glancing down the hallway. Sure enough, Doc's head was poking out of one of the rooms. Meryl hesitated, but Millie just smiled slightly.

"It's okay, sempai." She tried to keep her voice steady. "Go help him. I'll stay here and try to find Commander Gray."

Meryl thought about it for a second, then just nodded. "And can you tell me if there are any guards here?"

Millie brought the schematics back to their position, looking around the Infirmary. There were two dots in the observation deck, one dot in a room marked 'Photography' that turned out to be Sam, and two dots in a room marked 'Rec.'

"Yes." Millie glanced around the hall, trying to line it up with the schematic in her mind. Then she pointed. "In there."

"Can you . . . depressurize it?"

Millie checked the door to see if it could be sealed. It could.

"Uh-huh."

"Go head and do it," Meryl ordered, then turned towards Doc. "Just a second!" she called, jogging towards him, and the man nodded and withdrew.

That was Vash's room.

The thought of seeing him again made her stomach tickle strangely, and her blood run suddenly cold in her veins. She wasn't sure how much of that was Knives' dread and how much was her own. Was he going to be okay? She'd been so distracted she hadn't actually looked at the medical reports, but she wasn't sure she'd understand them even though Knives would –

Her fingers started moving again, but this time she forced them to curl into fists.

No, she told her brain. We have too much to worry about right now. Doc is taking care of Mr. Vash and that will have to be good enough.

She expected something. Retribution, punishment. But nothing happened. No sudden pain, no anger, nothing at all. Just the same feeling of dread, the same chill to her blood.

Please let Mr. Vash be alright, she thought fervently towards the ceiling. Then she focused on the computer again.

She had to knock out the guards so she could get their guns.

Her fingers started moving, and she watched them closely in case they started drifting towards medical data. But no, they just went to the schematics and started lowering the pressure in the 'Rec' room. Recreation, her brain supplied from the clear blue sky. It had been supplying a lot of terms lately.

She would miss this knowing. While she always knew she was perceptive, she'd never felt like she actually knew . . . everything. There wasn't a button or a picture around that she didn't know the name of, the function of, or several different ways to utilize. She knew about air pressure, specifically why it caused unconsciousness. She knew that if she thought about any subject hard enough, she'd just suddenly _know_ about it.

An orange dot caught her eye, and she looked at it a moment. It wasn't moving, which was good. It was a human, too. If it were a Plant like Mr. Knives or Mr. Vash, it would be showing up as a blue dot. There was also a blue dot nearby.

The blue dot was Mr. Vash.

And the orange dot was directly outside of the Infirmary doors.

She gasped, forgetting there was an audio link to Aaron, and he heard it. "Thompson?"

Millie licked her lips, trying to see if there was a camera outside of the Infirmary main door. There was. She tapped it, and saw a door. No commander.

Then she squinted. There was motion on the black and white image, like the floor had a puddle that was moving –

A shadow. He was kneeling just out of sight of the camera.

"Thompson," Aaron repeated, a little more urgently.

"I-I found Commander Gray," Millie admitted in a soft voice. "He's just outside the door, like you said."

"What's he doing?"

She frowned. "He's crouched out of sight, but I can see his shadow moving."

"Moving?" Aaron sounded thoughtful. He was also starting to breathe a little harder, and she briefly went looking for him. He and a blue dot that was nearly on top of him were heading for the same lift Elizabeth had taken a few minutes before. "A lot or a little?"

She glanced back at the camera. "A little, and only the top half of him."

"Millie," Aaron said in a tone that reminded her almost exactly of Mr. Vash when he meant business, "lock your console and get out of the main hall. Now."

She hesitated, looking at the air pressure in the rec room. "But I don't have a gun yet-"

"GO!" he yelled.

She physically jumped, nearly falling off the stool, and found herself trying to type something. She glared at her fingers, not sure if they were doing something on their own or they were trying to lock the console. She was pretty sure it was that button right there that would –

Millie finally pulled her fingers away from what they were doing and tapped the button, and the console blanked. The keyboard sucked back into the wall, and she stumbled to her feet, intending to head for Observation One –

Only the doors behind her slid open. And the only doors behind her were the main Infirmary doors.

Millie turned slowly, looking through her oily hair at the door. A very friendly-looking, balding man in his mid-fifties was walking in, looking casual despite the gun he carried in his right hand. He stopped when he saw her watching him, and then glanced around her a moment.

"You must be Millie Thompson," he said quietly, in a not unkind voice.

- . -

Meryl jogged down the hall, only pausing a second before she entered the room.

Vash's room.

Doc was asking her to help him with Vash.

The man she hadn't seen since Hondelic, excluding that horrible, white picture that would be burned forever into her brain-

It doesn't matter what he looks like, she told herself firmly. Doc will take care of him. He'll be fine. Even if he's a mess . . . she'd seen him look a mess before. This would be the same as that, only better, because she could trust the person that was taking care of him to know what he was doing.

Keeping these thoughts firmly in mind, she picked her eyes up off the floor.

Then she almost tripped in her surprise, slowing to a walk and not quite believing her eyes.

He looked almost . . . normal. As though he were sleeping. Longer blonde hair framed his pale face, slightly matted, like he'd been sweating at some point and gone to sleep that way and it had dried. He had about three days' growth covering his cheeks and jaw, just as blonde as his hair and long enough to be scratchy if she touched his face. He was covered from chest to feet in a light blue blanket exactly like the one she'd left wrapped around Millie, and while there was an intimidating amount of equipment in the room, none of it was attached to him.

After all that worry . . . he looked . . . he looked . . .

He looked okay. His face was a little gaunt, but other than that -

Doc was watching her, standing by the bed's foot. "We need to push him out into the hallway," Doc said gently.

"You won't get him off the ship," a metallic voice chirped suddenly, and Meryl bit down a yelp, whipping around.

An expanse of glass caught her attention, towards the ceiling, and she stared at it, realizing the voice belonged to Dr. Shrew. She was staring at them through the glass, conscious and apparently quite angry.

Meryl stared at her in disgust for a moment before looking away. She had done a good job with Millie, after all, even if she was responsible for what happened to Vash –

But he looked okay. His color wasn't great, but it wasn't the worst she'd seen it. His face looked relaxed, none of the tightness around his jaw and ears that signaled he was in pain. He was breathing slowly but regularly, and looked . . . oddly small beneath the blanket.

Of course, he's still missing the arm, her brain supplied. And all the metal implants were probably gone, too –

But . . . he needed them –

She looked at Doc questioningly, but he just shook his head. "We'll need to move him to something a little more mobile than this, obviously," he volunteered, as though the size of the bed was the reason they couldn't get Vash off the ship. "Just give it a pull, would you?"

She nodded, walking up to the head of the bed. A quick glance found two black handles that seemed especially designed for pulling, and she grasped them. They seemed large and thick in her hands, as though they were made for a much bigger, meatier orderly. She tugged like she meant it, surprised when the bed glided towards her easily.

"Steady as she goes," Doc murmured with a hint of amusement, and Meryl felt herself blush.

What had she been doing, staring at Vash! Doc needed to be brought up to speed-

"Commander Gray is alive," she said without preamble. "He's coming here."

Doc blinked. "Oh?" He glanced up at the window, and she followed his gaze to a very surprised-looking Dr. Shrew. "Then I suppose we should hurry."

Meryl just nodded, pulling steadily. She heard the doors behind her slide open, and she watched the corners of the bed to make sure she didn't jostle him –

Would he wake up, she wondered. If he could walk, they wouldn't have to worry about carrying him or wheeling him around. She knew he was heavier than he looked –

Well, maybe not now. Surely if he really did need the implants, Doc was planning on replacing them –

But how could he, in Eden? Was that why Vash was covered with the blanket? To hide all the terrible scars, and the – the holes and marks from where the metal used to be? And that horrible grate -

"That's far enough," a male voice called, and Meryl jumped, then turned sharply, her heart sinking into her stomach.

She knew that voice.

Meryl stopped the bed as best she could, digging into the tile floor, but it pushed firmly into her stomach and shoved her back. It had much more mass than it seemed, it thrust her back far enough that Doc was able to follow it before he realized they had company. The door to the main corridor of the ship stood wide open, and about two yarz in stood the recently not-deceased Bryan Gray.

Between them slouched the sloped-shouldered form of Millie Thompson, leaning on her IV stand. The console was nowhere in sight, the wall was dark and flat.

So she'd seen him coming, then, and at least locked the console. So he couldn't get control of the ship back until she unlocked it, right? That was something. At least he wouldn't shoot her outright.

Even though he'd apparently done so to Sunjy.

Meryl felt her stomach twist as the commander's eyes flickered to the bed, then past it. He smiled slightly.

"Good afternoon, Doc," he greeted cordially. Doc just regarded him, his face impassive.

"I'd say it's been too long since I've seen you, but I do believe never again would not be long enough."

The commander's mouth quirked. "Release the ship."

Doc sighed heavily, placing his hand on the end of the bed, near Vash's feet. "If you release the ladies, I will do as you ask."

The commander began to shake his head, though he didn't interrupt Doc. "Unconditional surrender," he corrected. "Tribunals for your party, I can guarantee."

Meryl blinked, glancing between the two men. Doc seemed so much older, and wiser, but their expressions were nearly identical. She'd never really thought of Doc as dangerous, but right then his complete impassiveness was unnerving.

"Your crew is nearly dead," Doc informed the commander of the New Kennedy. "Another ten minutes without regular air pressure being restored will kill forty percent of them. None will survive the next twenty minutes. If you think you can free and revive a technician that can undo what it is I have done to the systems in that timeframe, you are welcome to try."

Meryl carefully kept her expression exactly the way it was. Gray thought Doc had been the one to manipulate the computer systems – just like Aaron had before him. Neither of them knew that Millie was behind it, so Gray would ignore her. In fact, she probably hadn't said a word, so he would assume she was exactly what Dr. Shrew had reported. Worthless.

Stay still, Millie, she thought pointedly at the other girl.

Gray cocked his head to the side, as though considering. Then he pointed his gun at Millie Thompson.

Millie didn't even flinch. Meryl took a step in his direction before she stopped herself. What could she do? She didn't even have a gun. They could take cover behind the examining table, but –

What if he shot Vash trying to hit them?

"Unconditional surrender," he repeated. "I'll give you a moment to reconsider."

Doc hesitated, his expression never changing, but his eyes . . . Meryl had to look away after a moment.

What was he thinking? That Millie was going to die anyway? Of a clot, or a stroke, or whatever it was that Knives had done in the first place. Unless they got Knives out, and awake, to undo what he'd done. And how likely was that, really? That they'd let him wake up? Could they drug him just like the ship had done, force him to –

"I surrender," Doc said, not loudly but with good projection. "I do believe you would sacrifice your entire crew for the principle of the thing."

Bryan didn't lower his pistol, but he didn't fire. "I would," he replied. "Please begin."

Doc stepped forward immediately. "Lower your weapon, or choose a different hostage. You're frightening the poor girl, and her condition is delicate enough." Despite the fact that he had just given up, his tone of voice was very nearly a demand.

Bryan complied, changing his target to her. Millie hadn't moved a muscle since they'd walked into the hall, and she continued to stand stock-still, right where she was. As always when she had a gun trained on her, Meryl's heart began to beat faster, and adrenaline burned through her chest. So she was the hostage. She was okay with that, and refused to look at him, instead watching Millie.

Could Doc unlock the console? Did he know her password? What the hell was he doing? If they waited long enough, Aaron would get there and take care of the situation, but –

Doc was walking away from her and Vash, she realized suddenly. He was drawing the commander's attention away, and also stepping into line of sight –

The door to her immediate left suddenly opened with a slight whoosh of air, and it clicked. The guards' room. The guns.

Millie had set the door to open after the guards were knocked out.

She dove for the door.

She heard the gun go off, but she felt no pain, and hit the ground hard, rolling as best she could on her shoulder. It had been a bad dive, she decided, scrambling to her feet and looking around wildly. There were indeed two dark grey uniformed guards, and both were wearing pistols on their waists. She lost no time in grabbing one and chambering a round, and she immediately headed back for the door. If nothing else, she could –

What, shoot wildly down the hallway and possibly hit Doc or Millie?

Meryl took a steadying breath, putting her back to the doorframe. She heard nothing, not even a footstep. Where had the bullet gone? Had he just missed her altogether, or had he shot something else?

"You're the commander's attendant, aren't you." It was Doc, and it was very matter-of-fact.

Meryl stiffened, then dared to peer around the corner.

Millie was still exactly where she'd been, hanging onto the metal stand for dear life. Doc was also standing, just in the center of the hallway. There was still a light grey-uniformed man in the Infirmary doorway, but he wasn't old, or balding. He was quite young, actually, and someone Meryl could admit she was almost happy to see.

Terry Asoaurd lowered his gun, shaking like a leaf.

Meryl glanced at Doc's feet, then quietly stepped out, tucking the gun into her uniform jacket.

There was no doubt about it this time. Gray really was dead.

And Terry really had shot him.

In the base of the skull. A killing shot. Meryl looked away, glancing again at Millie. She hated blood, hated death. She was still shaking, but had yet to speak or move. Her stillness partially unnerved Meryl. What had happened before they'd come back out in the hallway? Had Gray hurt her?

Terry was nodding dumbly in response to Doc's question, and Doc continued to approach him. "What's your name, son?"

The private was staring at the body of his commander as though he expected it to get up any second. "Terry, sir. Terry Asoaurd."

Meryl watched Doc nod, stopping a few feet from the man. "Why did you do that, Terry?"

The man swallowed loudly enough for Meryl to hear, and his head jerked up at her approach, as though he hadn't seen her till just that moment. "I had to," he said softly.

Meryl stopped, unsure of whether she should get Vash or it was better that he was at the end of the hall and was being mostly ignored. Terry had been helpful, sure, but he was also a member of the ship's crew. He'd been the one that had gone through all her reports, assembled all the information that had led to Vash's capture in the first place-

"Thank you," she said quietly. It seemed the only thing to say. "How . . . did you know?"

Terry's eyes flickered back to the body. "He had a conference with Faber." His voice was mechanical. She knew the feeling of shock well; she'd heard the same voice out of so many people before. "When I got back to his quarters, he was already gone."

"And the Captain was dead," Meryl supplied. "Did Gray kill him?"

Terry brought his gaze back to her. "Faber screwed up," he said finally. "He let one of the civilians change policy on the ship. He was probably given the choice between that and tribunal."

Given a choice between . . . shooting himself or facing trial? Who would choose not to face trial? At least there would be a jury, and a sentencing phase that wouldn't mean execution – right?

He sighed and looked down as he caught her confusion. "Tribunal would have sentenced cold sleep . . . indefinitely. Until prisons could be built, and this ship's crew was part of the civilian government. So, forever," he added. "Most would choose to die directly than be trapped in near-death until there was no more power."

Essentially dead, but with the soul still trapped in the body? She suddenly shuddered. It would be the same as not existing. But people in cold-sleep weren't aware of it . . . were they?

"How did you know where he'd come?"

Terry shrugged. "I saw he'd put his badge in one of his boxes," he said quietly. "I knew he'd head to the place the computers were being controlled from. It only made sense."

"One of his boxes?" Doc echoed.

Terry glanced back at him. "Yessir." His posture was ever so slowly starting to relax. "His first position in the military was as an electrical engineer. He knows the wiring of the ship inside and out, and he makes a variety of electrical and other . . . boxes." He shrugged. "He liked keeping things organized."

Doc just nodded. "So when he put his comm. unit in a lined box, and closed the lid, it didn't trigger the proximity override. It appeared to the machine that his heart had simply stopped." Doc looked like he was putting a very important piece of information in place, and she realized he might not have known that the computer had told them Gray and Faber were dead. She wasn't sure if Elizabeth had told him – she certainly hadn't.

Terry nodded robotically, then refocused on Doc. "You did a good job helping to save the Plant, sir," he complimented. Doc just blinked at him.

"Thank you for that assessment," he replied dryly. "Would you like to sit down?"

Terry shook his head. "No, sir." He looked at Millie, then did a double-take.

"She shouldn't be up," Doc said immediately, before either girl could jump in. "But as you can see, we were rather preoccupied."

"It was you," Millie said suddenly.

Meryl tried not to look surprised. Oh, after all the times Millie had been quiet around him, she had to go spoiling it _now_?

Terry stared at her for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was awed. "I knew it," he murmured. "I watched you. I wanted to help. I did help. I told you when the audio was restored. I told you what they planned for Vash."

Hearing him say that name, after so many meetings of its and G-101A, it made something in Meryl's blood curdle. He knew.

He'd been watching, when no one else had. Just like he'd watched the footage, read all the reports. He'd been watching them the entire time, and helping them – but why look awed? Did he think he was talking to Knives?

"You deleted the data," Millie countered. Her voice was still hers, it wasn't the creepy tones she used when she first woke up, when she was dreaming. Why would he have- "You stopped the proximity alert from going out."

"And I disabled the device in the bulb," Terry added. "I tried to prevent the installation, but I never thought you'd be captured –"

"What device in the bulb?" Millie demanded in a sharp voice.

"The explosives," he replied immediately. "There were explosives placed there, on the off chance you were too powerful –"

He did think he was talking to Knives, directly through Millie. Why the hell would he want to?

Millie was starting to shake, and Meryl winced. So that was what Elizabeth had been trying not to tell her. That she had gone to 'take care of Knives' by blowing him up. Not that she could blame the engineer, but Millie was going to fly off the handle –

Millie spun, glaring at Meryl, and Meryl dropped her eyes, suddenly feeling terribly guilty. But only for a moment.

"Millie," she started, but the tall girl cut her off.

"I don't care!" she snapped. "He came here to rescue Mr. Vash for the same reasons that we're doing it now!" She was in righteous anger mode, and Meryl knew better than trying to slow her down. "He's trapped and scared and you wanted to kill him? Just like the people here wanted?"

"Millie Thompson," Doc said quietly.

Had it been anyone else, Meryl doubted Millie would have responded. But Doc sounded like everyone's father. Millie turned to look at him, tears pouring down her face, and he just shook his head.

"Now is not the time for this argument," he told her softly. "We are not safe yet. You need to log back into the system and restore air pressure, or many of the crew will die."

He'd managed to hit several very important points, and after a brief moment Millie dropped her gaze and turned back to the console. She didn't apologize, but Doc didn't seem to expect one. Instead, he turned to Terry, who looked extremely confused.

"Knives is in a coma," Doc said, narrowing his eyes slightly as though considering his words very carefully. "What made you think he was speaking through Millie?"

But Terry was quickly getting over his confusion. "You . . . you meant to use the explosives?" He didn't seem to be able to believe it, glancing at Meryl for confirmation. "You were going to kill him?"

Meryl felt trapped by his gaze, but she answered truthfully. "Yes. He's planning the annihilation of the human race-"

"And we deserve it," Terry interrupted with a growl. "You, of all people, I would have expected to understand that."

But hadn't he been the one explaining it was the most 'humane' thing to do to kill Vash –

To goad her into responding. To force them to act, put into place any plans they had for escape.

Because he'd run out of his own. He'd sabotaged what he could and it hadn't been enough.

Meryl responded instantly to his tone, reaching for the gun she'd tucked into her uniform. But his was still in his hand, and she didn't have hers fully drawn before she found herself on the business end of a gun for the second time that hour. She froze, then slowly pulled her empty hand back out of the uniform jacket.

"Put your gun down," Millie demanded, half-turned away from the newly awakened console. Her hands were gripping the keyboard tray, knuckles white. Trying to make him think she was Knives, giving him that order? Terry's eyes flicked to her, but he didn't obey.

"You will be rewarded for your loyalty," he told her. "But you are not he."

This was insane. Was he really a plant worshipper? Why would he help to lure two Plants to their deaths if he worshipped them? "You read my reports," Meryl retorted. "Did Knives reward any of the Gung-Ho Guns for their loyalty?"

Terry blinked at her. "They failed," he said slowly. "Why would a being as perfect as a Plant reward anyone for that?"

"You helped trap them!" Surely he couldn't be that crazy. "Do you call that loyalty?"

"It was the only way to make them aware of this place," Terry snapped. "He had to see for himself what it was he tried to extinguish all those years ago. He had to know he was right!"

Oh, god. He wasn't a Plant worshipper.

He was just trying to help Knives.

He hadn't been helping them. He'd been using them. To save Knives and only Knives.

"That's not true!" Millie cried, and Terry flicked another glance at her. "Mr. Knives was wrong to cause the Great Fall! But he did it because- because-" Millie broke off, her face suddenly puzzled. "Sempai . . ." she muttered uncertainly.

Then she buckled to the floor.

Things happened very fast. Terry immediately moved to help Millie, taking his attention off her. He'd never made her toss away the gun, so she finished drawing it and leveled it at him. Doc was also moving, but much slower and directly for Millie. Terry hadn't dropped the gun.

This was the only chance she was going to get.

He was going to kill them for trying to kill Knives. Or at the very least, not let them leave.

Aaron was not magically in the doorway to take care of this problem.

Meryl aimed for his right shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.

She hit him squarely; he flew backwards to hit the doorframe of the still-opened Infirmary main entrance. His gun went skittering out into the main ship corridor. Her bullet had passed about one step in front of Doc, who never flinched or gave her any indication he'd been afraid she'd accidentally hit him. His entire attention was focused on Millie. After making sure Terry was down, she sprinted over to Millie.

"Millie Thompson," Doc said in a quiet voice. "Can you hear me?"

She nodded, in her usual uncoordinated fashion. "I feel wrrd," she slurred.

Meryl's stomach tightened painfully as she slid to a stop on the tiles, staring at Millie.

She looked . . . almost the same. Her face looked slightly lopsided, but as she shook her head it seemed to be getting better. One look at Doc's expression, however, told her that everything was not all right.

"Does it tingle anywhere?" he asked her urgently.

Millie paused, then nodded. "Right leg," she said, a little more clearly. "It just gave out."

He nodded, feeling up and down the limb, and when he turned to her his voice was sharp. "Meryl, get some packing gauze out of the table."

Gauze? For a stroke? She paused, confused, and he turned back to Millie, staring at her intently. "For the young man," he clarified.

He wanted to doctor up the idiot that had almost shot them when Millie was sitting there-

There's nothing he can do for her, her brain interjected. It was expected. It was something that would happen when she got upset, and she'd gotten upset –

"Do I want to know?"

The voice was male, but not Terry's pained moans, and Meryl whipped back towards the door, glad the pistol was still in her hands –

Carter was staring back at her, gun at his side. On his shoulder was –

Was someone she would have sworn was Vash if she hadn't known he was lying unconscious on a bed about ten yarz behind her. The figure was wrapped in a simple cotton robe, almost like he'd just stepped out of the shower. Bare feet and graceful, muscular legs peered out from beneath the fabric.

He was carrying Knives. He was _carrying_ Knives.

Of course, she thought simply. They couldn't leave him here on the ship. Certainly not now that Millie knew what had been planned for him.

But what were they going to do with him?

Aaron seemed unconcerned with these questions, and dumped Knives unceremoniously on the floor, gun now pointed not at her but at Terry.

"Asoaurd," he muttered.

Terry was still slumped against the doorframe, clutching his right shoulder tightly and staring at the mound that was Knives, half shocked and half furious. "How-how dare you treat him like that!"

Aaron stared at him a moment, then looked directly at her. "Report." He said it like he might to a colleague that had just finished a security round at the plant.

"Gray caught us by surprise." Meryl paused. "I guess he-"

"Ripped the control out of the wall and hotwired it," Aaron interrupted. "Did it to several doors. Then what?"

"Then Terry Asoaurd shot him," Doc supplied, a bit shortly from his position in front of Millie. "I assume you are one of Elizabeth's men?"

Carter nodded once. "Who shot him?"

Meryl felt both her eyebrows go up, and Carter stared at her. "Uh . . . he became upset when he realized you and Elizabeth tried to blow Knives up."

"And he wasn't the only one!" Millie interjected hotly from the floor. Doc began murmuring something too soft for Meryl to hear. Aaron, apparently, didn't care what he was saying.

"If you have things under control, I'm going to go help Elizabeth."

Meryl glanced around. Vash was still on the bed behind them, blissfully ignorant. Millie was able to speak again, and Doc was here to take care of both of them. Terry was still slumped against the wall, very pale, and staring at Knives as though he still couldn't believe it. Knives hadn't budged from the floor.

"We're good. Go."

He watched her for a second. "Find us a car, Ms. Insurance Agent," he said quietly. Then he turned on his heels and headed out, grabbing his PDA off his belt as he went.

"Meryl, the bandaging, if you don't mind."

She barely nodded, jogging back to where Vash lay. He hadn't woken, even for the gunshots. His face was still as serene as it had been before.

She was glad he'd slept through it. Even after what Gray had done, he still would have been horrified that Asoaurd had killed.

She knelt by the bed, opening the drawers one by one. The third one down had something that would work, and she grabbed it and cast one last look at Vash before hurrying back.

Millie was seated on the stool again, staring at the console that had sprung back to life. She was typing very stiltedly, and Meryl avoided her as she handed her findings to Doc. He nodded his thanks, leaning down in front of the sweating Asoaurd.

"Let me see your wound."

The private hissed something at him, but it didn't seem to faze him. Terry didn't look like he was in any shape to try anything, but she kept her pistol handy, and stepped up behind Millie again.

"I'm very cross with you right now!" Millie declared hotly.

Meryl sighed. "I know," she said softly. "We didn't know-"

"I know," she muttered. "But it doesn't matter, sempai! Even if – even if I couldn't even think for myself, it's still wrong!" She turned to look at Meryl, her face worn and eyes still shining with tears. "No one has the right to take the life of another," she said simply. "Why doesn't that apply to Mr. Knives?"

Meryl stared at Millie, completely nonplussed. She had a point, but-

"It's wrong!" Millie insisted, and Meryl put a hand on Millie's shoulder. The taller girl shrugged it off roughly, and Meryl took a step back, trying to hide her hurt.

"Millie, the only one that can control him is Vash. Vash is – is sick." But not as badly as everyone had been saying . . . unless he just looked better than he was? "The compromise is broken. Humans interfered with the solar plant project. You were the one that told it to me, remember?"

Millie shook her head, biting her lip. Her hands had curled on the keyboard tray, and she suddenly hugged herself. "I know," she whispered. "He's so angry, sempai."

Well, after more than a hundred years of trying to kill humans, what did he expect? A champagne party? "Millie," she started after a moment, "we're going to have to do something about Knives."

The big girl fidgeted, unconsciously rubbing her right arm with her left. "He's just scared," she continued in a low voice. "He's been scared all along."

Meryl dared to take a step closer to Millie, and this time her partner didn't flinch away. Of course, she was seeing a little boy, when she dreamed, and it was easy to believe that Knives would be manipulating her any way he could, if he didn't have full control over her. Millie just shook her head with a hitched sob, and Meryl wrapped her arms around the big girl.

"Doc's right," she said softly. "This is a discussion for another time. We need to find some cars, Millie."

The girl nodded, relaxing into Meryl's arms. "I already did," she mumbled. "And I raised the air pressure again, so everyone will be okay now."

That meant everyone was going to wake up.

"Where are the cars?"

Millie tapped the screen lethargically, showing a straight corridor that seemed to branch upward in a straight diagonal before ending in a large, square chamber.

Outside of the ship.

"They dug a tunnel from a warehouse to one of the buried cargo doors," she said quietly. "There are lots of vehicles there, and supplies too."

Meryl nodded, trying to figure out where they were in relation to it. "Is that on this end of the ship, or the other?"

"This end." Millie tapped the screen, showing a room with two yellow dots and a green one. "Aaron is with Miss Elizabeth," she added sadly. "They should just head there straight away."

Meryl just nodded as Millie tapped a few commands. A window popped up, into which she started typing.

_Mr. Carter, _

_I turned the air back on. We've found the way to the vehicles. You should head there now – I marked it on the map. We'll meet you there. _

_- Millie T._

She tapped a key, and the console went dark. The keyboard withdrew into the wall silently, and Millie hugged the blanket a little tighter around her. "We should go now," she said clearly.

Meryl turned to Doc; he was finishing putting the final wrap on Asoaurd. The man seemed barely lucid; she was surprised. Had he really lost that much blood, or had Doc drugged him?

"Y-you can't leave . . . me here," he protested haltingly. "I . .. I have to go with him-"

"Dr. Shrew will take care of the stitches," Doc assured the man quietly. "Just remain here."

"No!" he shouted, trying ineffectually to stand. For a second she was afraid he was going to succeed, and nearly went for her gun again when he fell back, panting slightly.

Doc watched him a moment, but apparently determined that he was fine, because he turned to her. "Meryl, would you be so kind as to bring Vash over here?"

She nodded, tucking the gun away reluctantly and jogging back to the exam table on wheels. It was huge and ungainly, but at least that meant it was big enough that they could probably put Knives on it. He was too big for her to carry, but if the ramp had been built for cargo, it was probably wide enough to accommodate the bed. It wasn't as wide as the regular doors, after all.

Vash didn't respond when she approached, and again she took hold of the black handles and pulled. He seemed to float along with her; it was a little unnerving how easy the thing was to keep moving. Just starting and stopping seemed difficult.

Doc seemed to have come to the same conclusion she had; by the time she got the bed back down the hall, he had stooped and had peeled back one of Knives' eyelids. He didn't seem in the least afraid.

"Is Mr. Knives okay?" Millie asked softly.

Doc nodded. "He's just sedated," he replied. "They didn't have time to push him into producing power."

She wondered if that was supposed to reassure them, like he wouldn't be as angry when he woke up because all they'd done was drug him to sleep and put him in a bulb. As if making him power it would be more insulting.

Maybe it would be, her brain volunteered. Then again, Knives was in love with his Plant side –

She quashed the sudden memory of him laying in their home, just three days after Vash had brought him back. Yes, there was no doubt he considered himself more Plant than human.

So powering a bulb wouldn't be insulting. It would be horrifying. That humans would dare to use him as they used his sister Plants.

Not that the fact that they hadn't had anything to do with mercy, or understanding. Ultimately it probably meant nothing more than the fact that Knives wasn't as sick as Vash. Knives would probably be completely functional if he wasn't drugged into a stupor.

Whereas Vash –

She glanced down at him again, wishing he'd open his eyes. He'd say something. Let her know he was still in there, he was okay –

"I do hate to ask you this –"

Meryl looked quickly at Doc, embarrassed for the second time to be caught staring at Vash. The older man was indicating Knives – he'd made the same leap she had. It would be easier to wheel the two of them on the bed than carry them.

But was she strong enough to lift Knives?

She nodded, hesitating a little before she reached for Vash. She could pull him over to the one side, then there'd be less risk that she'd crush him with his brother. Meryl reached under the blanket, slipping one arm beneath his back.

Then she stopped.

She'd done it before, after – after that fateful day on the cliff. When he'd killed. He'd pretty much collapsed there, and while Millie had been the one to carry him back to town and put him on the bed, she hadn't always been around to change the bandages. He'd gotten shot so many times, hesitating. They hadn't been deep wounds, but they hadn't healed quite as fast as some of the worse ones he'd gotten in the two years she'd followed him. She'd had to sit him up and brace her shoulder against his back to keep him upright long enough to wrap some of them, so she was familiar with the way his back felt.

It didn't feel like this. This felt like weird, smooth stripes of slick plastic covering most of his skin. The bumps, the raised scars, the trenches, the pins, all of it was gone.

But warm. He felt warm.

Bandages, she thought to herself. They had to pack the holes with bandages.

She pulled his upper torso towards her, her face nearly resting on him and unable to tell if he was awake. He didn't offer any resistance. Once she'd pulled him to the very edge of the table she slipped out from beneath him, leaning up quickly.

His eyes were still closed. The blanket still covered him almost up to his chin, and suddenly she had no desire to see what was underneath.

Not yet. If it was a problem Doc would have done something about it. They needed to get Knives on the bed and get the hell out.

Meryl repeated the procedure with his legs, pulling him more completely to the left side of the bed, and tucked the blanket around him carefully. With that done, she turned to pick up Knives.

"Millie, no-"

It was Doc's voice, but her thoughts. He was standing beside the now-unconscious Terry, holding the man's PDA in his hand, and he looked alarmed. Millie, unnoticed, had stooped and simply picked Knives up. Like he was a cat that had been twining around her ankles. Effortlessly.

"Millie, wait-"

She ignored them both, carrying him over to the table and laying him down gently next to Vash. He, too, looked calm; he looked very much as he had when Vash had first brought him back. But Meryl wasn't fooled by that young-looking face and peaceful expression. Never again.

Millie looked at her sadly, then slowly pulled off the blanket that had been wrapped around her and laid it across Knives, tucking in the corners exactly as Meryl had done.

They looked uncannily alike like that. The same height, just next to each other, both covered in identical blankets.

Meryl tore her eyes away from the Plants, focusing instead on Millie. Oh Millie – even if it had looked effortless, she knew it wasn't. That was exactly what was going to make her worse, and she already _was_ worse - "Millie, you know you're supposed to be taking it easy-"

"He was too big for you. Besides, I don't need to be coddled." Millie sounded a little more like her old self, and she drew up straight as she looked at Doc. "We can go now."

He was watching her closely, but after a moment he nodded. "I'm just finishing." He glanced back down at the PDA, and after a moment it chimed.

Meryl stared at him. "You're not taking that, are you?"

He just nodded. "I've removed the application that allows them to be tracked by satellite," he assured her. "My brother and I used to shut it off all the time so Mother didn't know when we'd run off somewhere we shouldn't have."

Meryl blinked; that was the first time he'd ever spoken to her about his own childhood. Sometimes she forgot he was so much more like the people on this ship than he was like her.

He turned to Millie, frowning slightly. "I assume you left the ship locked down?"

"Yep! Aaron locked away all the crew between here and there, so we shouldn't run into anyone. And all the doors will be unlocked an hour after we've left."

"Is an hour head start enough?" Meryl heard herself ask.

Doc just nodded. "They'll be a little more concerned with their ship than us, I'm afraid." He turned back to Millie. "Did you get a chance-"

She just nodded. "Yep," she answered, and Doc seemed satisfied, turning back to the door. Meryl watched her. She had to be cold in only that gown, but she seemed . . . happy.

Happy like she'd been before.

If Doc noticed her mood shift, he didn't mention it. "Then I suggest we make haste."

Meryl pulled the gun back out of her uniform, and laid it carefully on the side of the table that held Vash, within easy reach.

Just in case.

- . -

Terry started.

He was lying in a very uncomfortable position, crushing his lungs and making it hard to breathe. His shoulder burned with every attempt. Confused, he opened his eyes, focusing on the hallway a long time before he figured out where he was.

The Infirmary hallway.

He blinked again, then tried to sit up before he had to fight down a sudden retch. His eyes watered heavily for a moment, responding to his gut, but he blinked the tears away, staring at that hallway.

It was empty.

They were gone.

Terry cursed, remembering to use his left hand to reach across himself. He felt his belt, and followed it to the empty clip where his handheld should have been.

They'd taken it away.

He cursed again, curling up and favoring his right shoulder. He needed to get to a console, figure out how much time had passed. If they got off the ship, and they'd taken the production Plant, there wouldn't be enough power to track them, and they'd lose the satellites.

He'd lose G-101B to those murderers.

As he pulled himself away from the wall he felt a tearing sensation, and it took a few seconds before liquid, hot pain poured from his shoulder. Dried blood, he realized. It had dried to the wall.

It was too late. He'd been out too long.

He hadn't even seen the needle. Hadn't even felt it. But the old man must have drugged him, it was the only thing that made sense. Drugged him and wrapped up his arm, but not good enough to get him mobile. Just enough to keep him from dying.

Dammit!

Terry took a deep breath, willing his stomach to remain still as he tottered to his feet. It was hard to push up off the floor, he didn't realize he used his chest muscles to stand but he did, he was dizzy and he crashed into the wall behind him, hard on his left shoulder. The force of the fall radiated across his body, and before he knew it he was on the floor again, gagging.

It took him a long time before he was willing to try again. Much more carefully, he turned to his left, and used the wall as his friend, inching up slowly with trembling legs. Once he was up, he dragged himself along the wall until he reached the console.

He was still wearing his comm. badge so it responded, lighting up. Hadn't the old man said that the doors would unlock and Dr. Shrew would see to him? Maybe it hadn't been as long as he'd thought. Maybe there was still time.

The keyboard slid out, and he started to type, haltingly. With one hand it was hard, but the backdoor he'd put into the system to delete the data was still intact. He didn't have admin rights, but he could at least look at what time it was, what was going on –

Three hours. He'd been unconscious for three hours.

The ship schematic showed that most of the crew was in the process of freeing themselves, though many were still trapped in various room of the ship. They'd restored the air as promised, which was stupid, but they hadn't let them out.

Liars.

He looked over the currently running protocols. Not only was the production Plant gone, but there were looping processes all over the place. The heavy bay doors were opening and closing, using up an incredible amount of power –

Draining the auxiliary power.

The schematic began to flash red, which usually indicated a shipwide malfunction. He stared at it a moment, wondering what system would be looping to produce this –

Then the rooms settled to a steady orange, with a gauge beside each one.

His eardrums popped before he realized what was happening, and the chill that settled over him had nothing to do with the sudden drop of temperature in the room.

The entire ship was depressurizing.

Of course, it wouldn't, there was a hole in the hull, so some of them would be saved – he had to get out to corridor E-12.

Terry lurched towards the door, pleased to see that it was still locked open by Bryan's meddling. He was holding his breath, it burned in his lungs as he half-staggered, half-ran down the hall. He could take the stairway and three levels down, there'd be air –

He didn't have his gun.

Terry stopped dead, nearly to the lift, and glanced back. He didn't know where it was. And there was no way to override the lock, he didn't have his PDA and it wouldn't work anyway –

One of the bandages pulled stickily away from his wound, and he reflexively gasped.

Only there wasn't any air.

- . -

**Author's Notes:** Well, so I promised you a completed escape. Who knew it would take me over fifty pages to do it? I should have. ) I tried to proof this thing, but in the once-over I found a lot of stuff, which means there's probably a lot more. I apologize for that.

I assume there are going to be a lot of questions. That went fast, and there are a few things still unexplained. As I repeatedly say and sometimes do, those questions will be answered in upcoming chapters.

Whew! So we escaped, and we even took a live Vash and Knives off the ship. Funny how that doesn't seem at all to resolve the problem of Knives wanting to kill them all, does it? This story will NEVER. END. Never. Many, many thanks to inkydoo for idea-bouncing assistance, and to all my wonderful feedbackers who pointed out they were seriously confused by the chapter before this mega-volume. I will go forth and fix away! Also, if you notice a plothole, please don't hesitate to let me know! I had to tie up a bunch of stuff, and I'm really not sure I managed to do it. And thank you for the support!


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

WARNING: Contains manga spoilers concerning the character Tessla.

- . -

For a long time she stood there. Watching him.

Just like he'd been watching her.

No, her mind corrected. Not the same at all.

She wasn't holding a five pound piece of stone.

It lay somewhat near him, though to his credit he had curled away from it in his sleep. It was round, and gray, and even if he had merely dropped it the stone would have done enough damage to seriously injure her.

He had meant to seriously injure her.

He might have meant to kill her.

Still she stared, uncertainty darkening her emotions, masking them from her. He was asleep, really asleep, unlike she had been. He didn't know she was standing over him as he had stood over her not two hours ago. He didn't know she was caught in the same indecision.

How could he? How could he even think it? What would it accomplish? He'd be all alone, alone on this planet of sand and rock and dust. Alone with the paltry handful of humans that had survived, that leaned on their sisters even more heavily than they had on the ship. Soon those humans would succumb to the elements, soon they would be no more.

Soon enough, they would be alone together. He couldn't stop that, now.

He couldn't take back what she'd done.

What had he been thinking?

Part of her wanted to know. To shake him awake and scream at him. Part of her wanted to hit him, to pound it into his thick skull that they were brothers! Brothers didn't act like this! How long could Vash continue on this way? Continue to wrestle with killing his own twin?

How long could she let him? How long would it take him to decide?

He'd fallen asleep crying, the moisture had captured particles of sand in the air and they lay across his visible cheek in a tell-tail trail. He was starting to shiver slightly as the air temperature continued to drop, and of course up on the top of this outcropping he was laying directly in the chill wind.

How stupid could Vash possibly be? Did he want to catch pneumonia in a place where they couldn't give him antibiotics? Did he want to freeze?

She watched him shift in his sleep, wrapping his arms around himself. But he made no move to roll over, or open his eyes. No move to fix the problem.

Maybe he wanted to be cold. So cold he couldn't feel anymore.

Numb.

She turned on her heels, casting a baleful look at the rock as she made her careful way down the high outcropping. It had been carved by wind, not water, and probably had a vein of some base metal in it, which was why it hadn't eroded with the rest of its brother rocks.

She slid the rest of the way down a flat piece of slate, hoping the noise hadn't woken him, and searched in the darkness for his pack. It wasn't hard to find, lying just next to hers. There'd been no point in continuing that night, and they'd both agreed this was a good place to get out of the wind.

She pulled his thermal blanket out of the pack, shaking it free of sand before folding it and tucking it into her shirt to warm it. The climb back up the rock wasn't as hard as it had been the first time, now that she'd found her way up once already.

He was still there. He hadn't woken.

She took a deep breath, watching him sleep. He didn't sense her there, as she had sensed him. He wasn't aware of all the things that went on when he wasn't looking.

She pulled the blanket out quietly, trying to minimize the amount of noise the fabric made. Then she spread it out quickly and dropped it over him, so that it would keep as much of the heat from her as possible.

You don't get to be numb, she thought at the sleeping figure, watching him shift slightly as the warmth registered.

You don't deserve it.

She sat on the very rock that might have been intended to be the weapon that killed her that night, and she wrapped her arms around herself. And she watched him. Watched him roll more fully onto his side, now seeking out a comfortable place among the rocks and sand. The night was more than half over, which meant he'd probably sleep the rest of it, if not into the morning. She knew she should take his lead and get some sleep, but it was a long time before she moved to do so.

If I don't get to be numb, neither do you.

When she backed out, felt harder, smoother dirt beneath her heel, she wasn't surprised to find her arms were still wrapped around her.

Those poor boys.

She glanced upwards, at the many floors of buildings above her, letting the familiar, acrid air burn her nostrils. Once again, she'd left one of the rooms, and was back in the city. She'd traveled down many stories, now. The broken Plant was barely visible through the dim entryways and the empty clotheslines that stretched between the squalid buildings.

The lower she went, the more the doors were harder to open. They weren't getting the benefit of the wind, they were just accumulating filth and muck and ash. It had taken her the better part of a half-hour to clear the last one. And it had been the best-looking one in the corridor.

She took a good look around, rubbing her arms unconsciously. She wasn't sure there was a lower level than this. The sky was a few tiny rectangular patches surrounded by red, browns, and now deeper, hot blacks. It could have been her distance into the huge city, but it seemed as though the sky had brightened at some point, the wind had died down. Fewer pieces of debris had been raining down at her.

Maybe it was morning.

Maybe the wind wasn't so angry anymore.

She glanced to her right, letting her eyes trail over the oddly piled refuse, the mounds of dirt and sand and ash that had trailed down the sides of the buildings above to pool here. Like a sewer draining, but without any water to wash anything away.

The doorframes were all equally spaced in this hallway, two absolutely rectangular, flat buildings that mirrored each other. As did most of the other hallways, these aisles ended in solid walls of other buildings, allowing a left and a right but never a forward. It gave a person an impression of a maze, but there seemed to be some innate order she just couldn't put her finger on.

And that was weird, she decided. She felt like she would normally have been able to see the pattern without a problem.

She picked a direction at random – left, this time – and started walking, looking at the doorframes to her right and left. Some were so rotted she wasn't sure she couldn't just kick the doors in, but something told her that damaging these already blighted places would just cause the entire city to tumble down upon itself. She was nearly to the foundation of this broken city, and while it didn't seem to her as though a full collapse could do more damage than had already been done, she knew she didn't want to be on the bottom floor when everything caved in on top of her.

An atrophied piece of the doorframe to her right cracked and fell, apparently in response to the air she displaced as she walked. She stopped, staring at it a moment. This door had once been wood, and it had been so worn by the trails of dirt as the city above it had decomposed that she could literally see through several large holes. Curiosity got the better of her, and she peered in.

While it had appeared as lightless as all the other rooms before she stepped in, as she stared into that blackness, gradually she made out a tiny pinprick of light. She focused, squinting her eyes until they felt like they were crossed, and she could just see . . . something moving. Bright light, and blue, and . . something moving.

She leaned her forehead a little harder into the door, trying to get a better look, and it dented in like stale bread collapsing under a probing finger. But it did get her closer, somehow. She could see now that the movement was from the ground to the ceiling. Lots of tiny things. Bugs? Bubbles?

She braced her hands against the door, switching to her other eye.

And then her hands seemed to pass right through the disintegrating wood, and sudden realization almost emptied her stomach.

That was –

That was an arm.

That was a piece of a little girl.

Her horrified eyes dragged themselves from the tube. Away from the free-floating arm, bathed in a thick, blue solution through which air bubbled cheerfully. They locked onto a pair of eyes, staring unblinkingly back.

No face. Just eyes, tethered to a mass of tissue that had once been a brain.

The face was in the third tube, along with what was left of that little girl.

Tessla.

The one like them.

Her organs were floating around her opened body, and even knowing as little as he did, he knew there was something wrong with them. Her legs seemed to be the only part of her that hadn't been mangled, and her toes brushed towards the bottom of the tube, as though they wanted to touch solid ground again.

As though they wanted to walk again.

As though the report of her fracturing her thighbone when she stood was just made up.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't blink. She couldn't look away.

That was what they'd done. To the one that had been born before them. Born from the same Plant as them.

The information flashed through her mind. The images of Tessla as an infant, the notes of how her growth was accelerated, like theirs. Curiosity and happiness at being able to communicate with a different species, followed by the tests. The scans. The cancer. The lack of regenerative functions.

That they'd done enough to her to know that she had regenerative functions.

That she'd given up.

That she'd died.

That they'd killed her.

They killed Tessla.

How could Rem not know about this?

Behind her, she could hear Vash's uneven breathing. He wasn't shoving, anymore. He wasn't talking.

That could be him, in there.

That could be her.

Day 229. She'd died on day 229. She hadn't even been a year old.

They were a year old.

How could Rem not . . . know . . .?

How could the crew . . . ?

Was that why Steve treated them like he did? But he wasn't the science officer –

How could they not know?

Was that why –

Was that –

Questions swirled around her head, making it hard to see. She still couldn't breathe. She couldn't hear. She couldn't even think anymore.

It could be them. It could be them.

It would be them.

No.

They had to get away. She had to get away.

But they were in space. There was nowhere to go.

She barely felt something touch her face, and the last thing her fading eyes could tell her was that she was parallel with the console, and one of the knobs was digging into her cheek.

When she pulled herself away from the door she gasped so violently she actually inhaled some of the crumbling wood, and that set her into a coughing fit that ended with her curled over, kneeling on the ground in front of that door. She coughed so hard she gagged, and her eyes watered with the force of her choking and emotions.

The little boys. They'd had a sister.

The people on the ship had killed their sister. They'd experimented on her, and she'd gotten sick. And she'd died.

That was why he was so afraid of humans. Because they'd done such a horrible thing.

He was afraid they were going to do it to him.

That was why he was so afraid for his brother now. Because his brother was sick.

Because the humans had made his brother sick.

Panic welled up inside her, and she swallowed down another reflexive hack, looking around her. The door she'd been leaning against was badly damaged, and as she watched more of that decrepit wood crumbled to the ground.

What . . . did that mean?

It gave her a cold feeling, and she found herself scrambling to her feet without really knowing why.

"What are you doing down here, Rem?"

Her breathing caught again, so that she coughed a few times, spinning on her bare heels to see him. The little boy. His long blonde hair was cut short, but he still wore the loose-fitting blue tunic, and a pair of short pants to match. His topaz eyes were looking at her curiously, but his expression was one of suppressed excitement.

Very clearly, there was something he wanted to tell her.

"I . . . was just looking for something," she said quickly, and she leaned down a little at her waist, both to get closer to eye-level with him and to hide the doorway behind her. She could almost hear the wood disintegrating, and tried desperately to ignore it.

Did he know what was in that room?

"But there's nothing down here of any value," the little boy replied, his voice puzzled. "What were you looking for?"

How could he say that? All of his childhood memories seemed to be in these rooms, and the more she saw, the more she realized - She shook her head. "Nothing important. Now, what brings _you_ down here?"

If he noticed her changing the subject, he didn't protest. Instead, he bit his lower lip, then threw his arms up in the air.

"He's back!"

She paused, then felt a relieved grin grow across her face. It was mirrored by the little boy in front of her. "I can sense him," he explained. "He feels right next to me!"

She crouched down and enveloped the little boy in a hug. "But that's wonderful! Shall we go and see him?"

The little boy hugged her back. "He's sleeping," the muffled voice said. "I hope he's okay."

She just raised an arm and stroked his short blonde hair. "He'll be okay, Knives," she said kindly. "Soon he'll wake up and tell you that all by himself!"

The little boy hugged her tighter, burying his face in her shoulder, before pushing himself away. She let him go, straightening to follow him, and he smiled up at her again.

"I was right," he said in a clear voice. He seemed so relieved.

She cast her mind back, wondering what he was right about. That they'd be able to get Vash? He'd never been sure . . . was he referring to trusting her to help him, protect them? She'd made the promise the first time she'd come here, that she wouldn't let anyone kill him. That they'd get his brother back.

And it felt as though she'd done both.

"They did exactly what I knew they would," he added, as though in explanation. "I was right."

She blinked at him, nonplussed. "You said –"

"That they'd do to us what they did to Tessla," he interrupted. "And they did. I was right to crash the ships, Rem. Even if you died, I was still right."

She stared at him, noting his relieved expression wasn't slipping. Then she turned to glance behind her.

The door was halfway gone.

"I never forgot, Rem," he said, not unkindly. The same way a child would tell a parent that he broke a crayon. "It was just that Vash was in a bad place. We had to go on. We had to make sure it didn't happen again."

Then the little boy frowned. "Only I didn't," he added softly. "You saved some of them, Rem. And I couldn't stop you."

He took a step toward her, but she refused to back away. In the blink of an eye, he was the fourteen year old boy, with the same haircut, same piercing blue eyes. Only now he was nearly her height, and his relieved expression had lost so much innocence.

He crashed the ships because he was afraid they'd be experimented on. Like Tessla had been.

He crashed the ships because it was the only way he could get away from them.

His expression settled into something cooler as he walked up to her. She stood straight, refusing to be intimidated.

"You can't blame me anymore," he said quietly, almost to himself. "If only you'd stayed in that pod, Rem. Why did you have to go and spoil everything?"

She stared him straight in the eye, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Isn't what you did exactly the same, Knives? Kill them before they can kill you?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then he started to laugh.

- . -

Meryl glanced across the cab of the truck, noting that Millie was leaning against the window. Her head bobbed with the jouncing the truck was taking, and her eyes were closed.

She'd finally fallen asleep.

Meryl turned back to the sand, doing her best to make the ride smoother. Generally speaking, they were heading due north. Even she was smart enough to know which direction that was, since it was nearly evening on Gunsmoke. The first moon always rose in the north, something to do with its unusual orbit. Of course, she'd read that the fifth moon's orbit was changing since Vash the Stampede blew a hole in it, which was affecting all the other moons. That had been the same newspaper that had also proclaimed the suns were dying, so she wasn't sure how much stock to put into it.

She glanced Millie's way again, not to stare at the slumbering woman, but past her. Aaron was driving the other vehicle, and rather than follow her directly and eat a bunch of sand, he was flanking her on the right. He was close enough that she could actually see him, his posture much like hers.

Tired.

They'd only been driving for about seven hours, but it felt like an eternity. She was sure that was partially because she didn't know how much longer it was going to take. Millie had given them general directions. Due north. Aaron had pointed out during their lunch break that that would take them directly into the several thousand square iles of wastelands between one line of the crashed ships and the other. Most of the civilization of Gunsmoke was set up like a horseshoe, with Mei and Inepral City on the very top of that horseshoe, and July and December as the end points. One normally followed the horseshoe to get anywhere, not because it was the fastest way but because there was literally nothing in the badlands. No fuel, no settlements, not even any bandits.

It made sense that Knives would choose a place like that. Currently empty and presumably always would be, but directly in the center of civilization.

He wanted it to be noticed, eventually. He wanted to taunt the humans with his Eden, because once they toed the line, he would get what he wanted.

Who was she kidding. He'd already gotten what he wanted. Tenfold.

And that was partially the reason Millie was being so calculatingly vague about their directions, she knew. Millie wasn't going to tell them where Eden was, not directly. In a small way, it insured Knives would survive to get there. She was using his memory to locate the place.

And even if she'd already memorized the location, it didn't change the situation. As soon as Knives died, Millie wouldn't be able to tell anyone anything.

Meryl chewed on her lower lip. She hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak to Doc about Millie's episode during their escape. It had taken every bit of strength she possessed to shove the twins and that huge bed up the steep, never-ending ramp that led from the ship's hangar bay to the vehicle depot. It had been such slow going that Aaron and Elizabeth had actually caught up with them halfway.

Aaron hadn't been able to help. He'd had his own problems.

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to forget. Not that she ever would. The unnaturally shaped body over Aaron's shoulder hadn't been Sunjy. It had been a Plant, wrapped and tucked and folded into two protective suits, so that the passengers in the vehicle with her wouldn't have to wear them.

She wasn't sure Elizabeth was ever going to forgive him for not going back for Sunjy. She wasn't sure she would, either, if it had been Millie or Doc or Vash that had been left behind. But it didn't make Aaron any less right. Sunjy was dead, and they didn't have time to go back for him.

They had to trust that the crew would bury him. That they wouldn't abuse his body, that they'd show him respect.

Doc's handheld had shown there was already too much activity in the main corridors as the crew started to free themselves. He had then picked the two trucks, he'd assigned the passengers, and he'd managed the loading of all persons and supplies. They had enough food and water for several days, though Aaron had already calculated that Eden had to be within two days of April.

Even if Millie never woke up, they had a good chance of stumbling upon Eden before they ran out of fuel or food.

A gentle tap directly behind her head made her squeak, and she whirled around to stare at the glass windshield separating her from her cargo.

The only conscious one, Doc, was watching her. When he saw he had her attention, he half-smiled apologetically for startling her, and then pointed.

She followed his gaze. He was picking out a huge outcropping of rocks. Probably a camp for the night, since they didn't know the topography and the going was getting worse. Though there was still an hour of sunlight . . . or maybe she just didn't like the idea of spending the night somewhere huge carrion birds were already lazily circling.

Like they knew there was no other place for these humans and Plants to stop.

She broke left, checking over her shoulder to make sure Carter was following. Then she tried to pick out the easiest approach to the rock.

They were pretty lucky – due north had proved to be a limestone ledge rather than flat sand, which prevented them from getting stuck in quicksand or sinkholes. She wasn't sure if Millie knew that, or was just giving them the quickest path to Eden. She was obviously as anxious as the rest of them to get there, no matter what awaited them.

They'd escaped the ship, but everything felt . . . as though the hardest part wasn't done yet. As though there was still a huge hurdle to clear. And she just didn't know how they were going to do it.

Meryl cast another look at Millie, laying exhaustedly against her own window. She didn't wake, even as the vehicle slowed, climbing over small rocks and outcroppings as they approached the lee side of the rocks. When the truck eventually ground to a halt, she put it carefully in park and turned the key in the ignition. The engine died easily.

Millie didn't wake.

Meryl opened the door, getting out of the truck carefully, not to be quiet but because her legs felt like gelatin. On the other side of the truck, she could hear more tires crunching over small rocks and after a moment, it too squeaked to a stop and shuddered into silence.

Doc was already out of the truck bed, and he cast a look upwards, as though measuring the amount of sunlight he had left.

"We should spend the night here," he finally said to her, quietly, and turned his sharp eyes on the truck cab.

"Millie's sleeping," Meryl answered, and Doc just nodded. Then he started to walk away.

"Wait, Doc –" She jogged to catch up to him. "I wanted to ask you-"

"I'll be back shortly, my dear," he reassured her with a smile. "I'm afraid self-medication comes with its own set of problems."

It took Meryl a second to catch onto the old man's meaning, and she immediately stopped, blushing bright red. Problems. Of course.

He didn't seem perturbed, just waved a hand and disappeared around an outcropping of rock.

Meryl spun on her heels and headed back to the trucks. While he was gone, they could try to set up the tents they'd stolen from the supply closet, along with the odd boxes of food that Doc assured them were far better than any of the other more familiar-looking dried foods they'd seen on the shelves. Millie had seemed to recognize them as well, though she wouldn't say why.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she'd probably seen one while she'd been in Bryan's men's custody, shortly before Knives had gone in and killed them.

It was what he'd done in the span between killing them and bringing her to the ship that worried Meryl. She didn't want to ask, but she was sure Millie would never volunteer it.

And didn't they all have some secrets that just didn't need to be shared?

Meryl frowned, glancing upwards again to judge the position of the suns. It was really more a glance at the horizon than it was one up at the sky. They were sinking low, not that the temperature of the desert gave any indication of relief. She crunched back over to the trucks, noting Aaron had already gotten out of his and was untying the tarp that they'd stretched over the bed.

Despite the suits, it had been determined that the slumbering Plant would require shade as well. Doc didn't seem too worried about the Plant despite its bloated appearance, and hadn't chided or criticized Aaron for bringing it to him in that condition. He'd merely said she'd need more water than a Plant under maintenance sedation would, and that shade was required. He'd given the Plant an injection about four hours ago, and she didn't appear to have moved since.

Aaron caught Meryl's gaze, and though he said nothing, she knew what he was asking. "Doc's having stomach trouble," she said simply, and the man nodded, letting his eyes settle on the rocks Doc had disappeared behind for a moment before continuing with his work.

He missed Meryl's questioning gaze, or more likely, simply didn't respond.

She didn't want to imagine what the atmosphere in his truck cab had been like.

Elizabeth had said almost nothing during their lunch stop. She'd eaten nothing, barely drank, and spent her time staring at the ground, her hands, or the canteen. Meryl was surprised at the engineer's reaction; she'd seen Elizabeth frustrated, she'd seen Elizabeth under stress.

She'd never seen the statuesque engineer behaving like this.

And part of her felt absolutely horrible for thinking that she got what she deserved.

Because it wasn't true. Elizabeth had made her very, very angry. She'd shared details about Knives and Vash that would have been better left buried. What she'd given them would make it easier for them to track down the twins once they'd gotten their ship and their personnel straight. The death of Commander Gray would slow that process considerably, which was in their favor, but it wasn't as though Elizabeth had planned that.

But she'd been trying to put herself into a position where she'd have a steady stream of reliable information. Her intrigue and careful words had put Aaron and Sunjy in places they could use to their advantage, such as Aaron's success in overriding the lift. Which had been completely invalidated by Millie's newfound computer talents, but left them with a Plan B.

She was a long way from forgiving the engineer, but she knew how it felt to lose someone. And there was no doubt the other woman had been much closer to Sunjy than she had been to Wolfwood. Elizabeth had known the man all her life after July, and she'd only known Wolfwood a few years. Her sympathy would mean nothing to Elizabeth right now, maybe not ever. But she'd offer it just the same.

It might make Aaron Carter's life a little easier.

Meryl watched him withdrawing supplies from beside the slumbering Plant, and she gazed into the bed of the truck she'd been driving, looking at her own.

They weren't covered with a tarp, but their heads lay close enough to the cab that they'd been enjoying the shade it provided. Not that either one of them would have cared if their faces were sunburned. Knives was safely in a coma, looking just as peaceful as before. Vash didn't seem to have moved much, but he was sweating a little.

She frowned, pulling down the tailgate, careful not to dislodge any of the fuel or water containers. Doc had been sitting between them, keeping them wrapped in the blue blankets to protect them from the sun. She knew from Millie's that the blankets were pretty light, considering. They weren't going to cause the gunman to sweat when that horrible armor or the stuffy red coat hadn't.

She stood and walked carefully across the bed, trying not to jostle the truck overmuch. Despite the fact he was out cold and she knew it, she watched Knives like a hawk as she knelt between the two. Only when he didn't so much as quiver in her direction did she turn her attention back to Vash.

He was definitely sweating, and she tentatively laid the back of her hand across his forehead.

He was burning up. He didn't respond to her touch, either, not so much as a twitch of his eyelids.

Maybe he wasn't as okay as he looked. Meryl bit her lip, then turned the edge of the blanket down a little. He was more than half in shade anyway, it wasn't as though there was a need to mummify him up to his chin when he was already overheating.

Her hand froze, almost dropping the blanket as she saw what lay beneath it.

Skin.

The grate was gone. It was the first thing she noticed, but that observation was immediately followed by the visible lack of raised, angry red scars. They were reduced in appearance to strips of almost waxy white flesh. Sweat beaded on these strips of flesh unnaturally, like it was windbreaker material and not skin at all.

Almost against her better judgment, she tossed the blanket back, exposing him almost to his abdomen.

It was covered, not in raised, red scars but white ones. The holes in him, where the flesh had been dug out or shot off, they were filled with the same waxy scar tissue. He was a little paler than she remembered, and if you didn't look too closely-

He looked almost like a normal person. She had known the implants were gone, but she'd never imagined that he'd –

Healed? Or was this something else? Was this why he hadn't woken up? The energy he'd expended to repair his body had been too much?

It was as she was studying the odd pattern of scars around his heart that she noticed.

His arm. It was missing; they'd left the prosthetic in the ship, but she was sure Doc would be able to make another one. It just looked –

More. Longer than she remembered the real flesh being. It seemed as though a ring of this new scar tissue had formed around the base, extending about five inches almost to where an elbow should be. Vash hadn't had that much arm remaining, had he?

Meryl tore her eyes away, suddenly realizing he'd be horribly embarrassed if he knew she was seeing him like this. The scars had been bad enough, how would he react to this . . .?

What did she care? As soon as he woke up he was going to roll over and let Knives slaughter them, right?

Meryl thinned her lips, glancing again at Knives.

They had to do something about him. The ship, their escape, it hadn't been the time to discuss it. Doc had reminded them of it as they'd bickered about who was getting on what truck. It was decided that Millie needed to be in the vehicle carrying Knives, and Doc needed to be as well to keep him out. Vash obviously went with Doc, and it made more sense not to let Millie drive, since she'd obviously gotten worse. At that point it had been apparent that everyone else was going to have to go in another truck. Doc was the only cramped one, and she glanced back at the rocks.

No sign of the old man.

Considering he was injured himself, it probably hadn't been smart to let him go off on his own. It probably hadn't been good for him to sit in the back of the truck, wrapping a piece of cloth around his head to keep off the sun. He'd eaten and drank during their stop, and she'd noticed Aaron watching him. If they didn't get to Eden soon, she was worried that he was going to take a turn for the worse.

And then they'd be in very big trouble indeed.

"How are they?"

Meryl tried not to yelp, glancing at Aaron. He was standing by the bed of the truck with a canteen in his hand. He offered it to her, and she nodded thanks. She drank deeply, then turned and lowered the lip of the canteen to Vash's lips.

"Careful," Aaron said quietly behind her, and she almost smiled as she watched the miniscule amount of water trickle into his mouth. After a moment, she saw his throat bob as he reflexively swallowed.

"This isn't my first time playing nursemaid," she said in a low voice, letting him get another swallow before she sat back on her heels and glanced at Knives. Aaron leaned his forearms on the truck and watched her a moment.

"So what about him?"

"That's a good question," she said quietly. "What do you think?"

"I think he's a waste of water, at least until we get to Eden," Aaron responded frankly. "The map I snagged out of the supply room is as good as the one Doc gave us, but it's still a guessing game. No way Thompson'll tell us where we're going?"

Meryl shook her head.

Aaron glanced behind her, and Meryl frowned.

He was looking at the rocks, too.

"How's Doc?" she asked after a moment. Aaron gave her an odd look.

"He's doing okay for an old guy. How are you?"

She shrugged. "Tired," she replied honestly.

He pinned her with a look, and she found herself trying to get away from his eyes.

Taking care of Knives meant hurting Millie.

She knew that. She knew that they couldn't let Knives wake up. Once he saw Vash, he wouldn't stop until every single living breathing thing with arms and legs was in pieces. It wouldn't matter that it was basically humans from Earth that had done this. They were all from Earth, even if she was three or four generations removed. It wouldn't matter to him that these humans had only been on Gunsmoke for the equivalent of a couple years.

All that would matter was that humans interfered. That much Millie had communicated to her.

And Knives was already aware, on some level. Even though he was in a coma, he was thinking. Seeing what Millie saw, hearing what she heard. He already knew what they'd done to his brother, tried to do to him.

Oh, shit. He'd know that they tried to kill him.

And they didn't have an excuse.

"That good, huh," Aaron said quietly, and she ducked her head so he would stop reading her expression.

A moment passed, then Aaron leaned off the truck. "Don't go anywhere."

Meryl listened to him crunching off, and when she heard a door open she knew he was talking to Elizabeth. She needed to be a part of this conversation as much as the rest of them did.

What the hell were they going to do?

Meryl stared at Knives a moment, then returned her gaze to Vash. Was Elizabeth right? Had Vash really agreed to let Knives kill the humans? Had he really been so stupid to agree to that? What if it wasn't stupidity? What if he was just tired? He'd been trying to save the world since he was a boy. He'd lived over a hundred years, accumulating scars and pain and heartbreak in his thankless task. He'd killed, the one thing he'd promised himself and his mother figure he'd never do. He'd fought his brother, he'd even won.

But Knives had lived. And Vash had been faced with the same decision they faced now.

What to do with him?

She wasn't sure what he'd done. Knives had been in the house two days after his tirade before he'd really been conscious enough to interact with them. Vash had been doing a good job of preventing them from entering the room at all, but he'd needed to get some sleep. He'd also been holding his head a lot, which made her think that he'd gotten grazed by a bullet or hit a little too hard at some point and she hadn't noticed. He'd shown a sensitivity towards sunlight, but the most telling indication was that he'd let her nag him into bed one afternoon.

And she'd promised to look after Knives.

He'd glared at her the moment she'd walked into the room, then dismissively stared out of the small window in the room. He'd never looked at her again, never twitched so much as a finger in her direction. She'd assumed he was in too much pain to move, and that she was safe.

When he'd sat bolt upright in the bed as a gunshot rang into the house from the open window, she'd realized that was not the case.

He'd winced, glaring at his stomach a moment and waiting for the tell-tale red to appear, signaling that he'd ripped the wound open again. And sure enough, he had. Yet he'd done nothing besides sit as still as a statue when she'd carefully rebandaged him. At the time, she'd been a little surprised that Knives was so jumpy. She'd been a little unnerved herself, though she'd later found out it had just been a warning shot from a storekeeper to some unsavory types.

He'd had the chance to kill her the entire time she was in that room, and much like she couldn't have prevented a serious Vash from ending her life, she couldn't have stopped him either.

Something else had stopped him. Had Vash already gotten his brother to agree to their compromise? Did he know that Knives would never agree unless he added that stipulation? That if the humans screwed up just once, it was over?

And what did over entail? Had Elizabeth extrapolated that Vash would allow it, or did it simply mean the brothers would be fighting one another again? She stared at Vash, willing him to wake up. Willing him to tell her what would happen.

But he didn't.

Crunching footsteps alerted her to Aaron's return, and she wasn't surprised to see Elizabeth leading the way. The engineer looked much better than she had at lunch; maybe she got some sleep. Elizabeth glanced at her, then into the cab of the truck, noting Millie's sleeping face plastered against the window.

"Where's Doc?" she asked, when she was within easy speaking distance.

Meryl frowned, and glanced back at the outcropping again. She was all for giving the old man his privacy, but he was starting to worry her. She glanced at Aaron, and he nodded and headed immediately in that direction.

"Wait," she called softly, and he stopped, turning his head slightly back towards her.

"What do you think?"

He turned forty-five degrees, and watched her through his eyebrows a moment. "I don't think there's really a question," he observed. Then he continued towards the last place they'd seen Doc.

Meryl turned back to see Elizabeth frowning down at Knives.

"Any ideas?" Meryl asked quietly.

The engineer didn't even smile humorlessly. Her blank expression never really wavered.

"If we kill him, we may or may not find Eden. Millie may or may not get worse. Vash may or may not forgive us. Gunsmoke will be safe from him." She pursed her lips. "If we let him live, we find Eden. Millie may or may not get worse. Vash may or may not forgive us. Gunsmoke will not be safe from him."

She blinked dark-rimmed eyes as she caught Meryl's gaze, and she could see the engineer was struggling to hold herself together. "The question is whether we're sure what just happened violated their compromise, or not."

Meryl stared at her, expecting her to continue, but she remained silent.

"You were the one that was so confident that Knives would consider this over," she reminded the woman.

Elizabeth sighed, then nodded. "Vash did. He figured out several months back that he agreed to something really stupid. He did say that he'd verbally agreed that Knives could consider the compromise broken if anything happened to Vash." Her eyes traveled to him, lingering a long time. Meryl realized this was probably the first time the engineer had seen him sans implants as well. "I'd say something happened to him," she finished quietly.

Meryl blinked. Verbal contracts were shaky at best – but then again, Knives and Vash were telepaths. They probably had eidetic memories. "But agreeing that the compromise was broken isn't the same as agreeing not to do anything about it –"

Elizabeth shrugged. "He said that Knives stipulated that if anything happened to Vash, he would kill everyone. Vash simply responded with a 'yes.'"

She raised an eyebrow. Knowing him, that was just to acknowledge Knives' opinion, but the engineer was right. Knives would have interpreted it as permission from Vash to allow Knives to do whatever he wanted.

But Vash would insist on his correct meaning, wouldn't he? She glanced back at him again. The wind had picked up slight, moving a strand of oily hair onto his cheek, where his whiskers had trapped it. She resisted the urge to brush it aside, and was surprised when it was easier than she'd thought.

He was hurt, and he needed their help. But when he was better, he was on his own. He wasn't the same Vash, she reminded herself. Vash would never have done what he did in Hondelic.

"What do you know about their relationship? Were they getting along better?"

Elizabeth stared at Meryl, losing some of her blank expression to confusion. "You were reading the letters, right-"

Meryl shook her head. "No," she answered shortly. No need to explain.

Elizabeth didn't push it. Either she knew it was a bad idea, or she didn't really care. "Knives was calling the shots, and Vash was running around trying to hold everything together. When he wasn't with me or in Eden he was in a bar or on a streetcorner with the kids. More of the former than the latter." She frowned.

"If I had to guess, I'd say he was trying to get it all out of his system before he went back to Eden for good. Once the Plants are all extracted, there's no real reason for Vash to be involved. Knives and I did most of the work on the fusion generators, and Knives was managing the manufacturing of the solar plant components as well as the fusion reactors."

So Knives was getting Vash – away from the humans. He had manipulated their roles to have the upper hand.

Which meant that Vash was letting him.

"What about Millie?" the engineer asked softly.

What about Millie? Meryl closed her eyes briefly. "I wanted to ask Doc, but I haven't had a chance. She – she got upset when Gray and then Terry showed up. She collapsed, and when she spoke afterwards she was slurring her words again." She'd briefly thought that was the end. "She said her leg was tingling and had given out." But then again, she'd picked up Knives so easily, and been exhausted but striding easily up that ramp.

Elizabeth just nodded. "So she's going to be . . . affected, if we do this."

Meryl glanced into the cab of the truck, where she could just barely see Millie's left shoulder and her hair. She was still wearing that horrible gown they'd given her, just as she herself was still wearing the gray uniform. So was Elizabeth. They'd been far more worried about getting out of range of any weapons than they'd been with their wardrobe.

Knives had survived July, when Vash had told her he'd shot his brother. Knives obviously had the ability to repair himself physically, just as Vash had apparently done with his scars. But did that mean he knew of a way to heal others? Or was it just a Plant trait that wouldn't do Millie any good?

She'd heard of plant technicians recovering from chronic illnesses after working with a Plant for a while, but arthritis was a long way off from clots and strokes.

And if Knives was connected to Millie telepathically, what would happen to her when he died? Would that cause even more damage? Or would she just keep sleeping, just like she was now?

"Do you think we can . . . I don't know. Keep him drugged?"

Elizabeth thought about that a moment, then shook her head. "No. Dr. Greer said something about Vash developing an partial immunity to the inhibiting drugs. It was taking more and more to keep him under wraps. I assume the same would happen with Knives. Also, what if we missed a dose . . .?"

She could think of no prison to put Knives in. They could leave him in the middle of the desert, but what if. . .

If they let him live, he'd declare open war on humans. Of that, both she and Elizabeth were sure. Millie had already revealed that Knives was very, very angry. She didn't think she could talk him out of something he'd wanted since he was a boy. Only Vash seemed to have that power, and he wasn't currently capable of speaking.

Everything else wasn't certain, but that was. If they let him live, they were in very real danger of being annihilated. They couldn't stop him. He wouldn't fall for the drugs again, and she wasn't sure she wanted that Earth military to go after him again.

She doubted he'd given them a chance. Anyone that knew how he'd been taken down would logically be the first to be killed.

She heard low voices, and turned to see Doc proceeding towards them, flanked by Aaron. He didn't look any the worse for wear, and picked his way as any old man might around the rocks.

"Doc will not allow this," Elizabeth said in a low voice. "He will want to give Knives the option."

The option to kill them? She glanced at the engineer, who held her gaze steadily. Elizabeth was sure of her words. And her vote was clear.

Aaron and Elizabeth both felt that killing Knives was the only solution to their situation. Even if they never found Eden. Even if Millie –

Meryl just crouched between the Plants, waiting for the two men to approach. Doc seemed to sense the tension, because he came up fairly quickly, and didn't break eye contact.

"What happened to Millie? Back in the Infirmary?" She asked it without preamble, but this didn't seem to surprise Doc. He just sighed quietly.

"She had a stroke," he answered, just as bluntly. "A fairly major one, I should think. I doubt she'd have motor control of her right side if Knives was not compensating."

Meryl blinked, swallowing around a suddenly thick throat. "Is there anything we can do for her?"

Doc never flinched. "No," he admitted. "She is beyond human medicine."

"Do you think Knives can repair her, as he repaired himself?" she heard Elizabeth ask.

He sighed, switching his gaze to the other speaker. "I don't know," he answered. "I don't know how Knives repaired the damage Vash's Angel Arm did to him. However, Knives didn't suffer trauma to the head. The brain is a tricky thing. Even if he could repair the damage, the knowledge that was in the cells that died – it's gone. Memories, skills – she'd have to learn to speak again, walk again."

"Do we have enough supplies to get to Mei City from here?"

Aaron glanced at Elizabeth – as far as Meryl knew, it was the first time she'd spoken to him since they left the ship.

"Yes."

If Knives died, Millie died. If Knives died, they'd have to take their chances with Vash being discovered by operatives of the ship they'd just left behind. If Knives lived, they were all dead.

Millie would say not to kill Knives, because he was scared. Because he had acted to protect his brother. Because she was far too close to the crazed rationalizations he was pumping into her brain along with all that knowledge of the computers. And she agreed with Elizabeth, Doc would never elect or allow them to execute someone. And that was what it would be. They were keeping him in a drug-induced coma, and they were talking about killing him when he couldn't say one word to defend himself.

Not that he would.

Aaron and Elizabeth were obviously for ending the threat, regardless of the consequences. She'd already asked herself this question. It was Millie or humans on Gunsmoke. And that was assuming Knives actually would help her, even if he could.

When she'd seen with her own eyes the corpses of members of the Gung-Ho Guns that had failed to kill Vash. Even when Knives had never intended them to succeed in the first place. His track record for rewarding loyalty or service was crappy at best.

Two for, two opposed.

And what did she think?

Millie or everyone else.

That was the question.

Meryl looked down at Vash, then glanced at Doc. "Is he going to wake up anytime soon?"

Doc watched her steadily. He'd obviously figured out why they were asking the questions they were, because he suddenly looked tired. "No," he answered.

Elizabeth had been right all along. Vash wasn't going to save them, this time.

They'd have to save themselves. Or die.

The thoughts echoed so strangely in her head. She'd thought them when Knives had begun his attack on the ship, but he'd never really stopped. He was fighting them even now, holding Millie as his hostage. Maybe he'd planned it that way all along. Maybe the damage he'd done was absolutely calculated because he knew they'd do anything to help her.

She glanced again at the cab. Knives wasn't going to help Millie. She just knew it. He'd be furious that they tried to blow him up and Millie had failed to see it until it had been attempted. He'd consider that she failed him, and he'd punish her accordingly.

Oh, god. What was she thinking?

Could she do this?

Could she allow this to happen?

Millie was still sleeping, more than exhausted. She'd just keep sleeping. Keep sleeping until the next stroke killed her. Maybe the last one already had.

Meryl stared through the glass, staring at the shoulder and the hair that was visible. Millie had jumped into danger to save others before, hadn't she? Meryl had done the same, standing in front of a gun to save a life. She was willing to give her life for a cause she believed in. Shouldn't saving the humans on Gunsmoke be a cause she would believe in?

Would she accept that they'd sacrifice her, in this situation? If it were her sleeping peacefully in that truck, and not Millie?

Was she trying to rationalize murder? Or was this pity?

Was this what Vash had gone through every time he'd been faced with a decision to kill or be killed? Was there really another way?

It was wrong to take the life of another, but it had _not_ been wrong to shoot Legato Bluesummers. He'd orchestrated it so that there was no other alternative. Wasn't that what Knives himself had done?

Meryl took a slow breath. "Aaron, give me your gun."

She heard fabric shift, and she turned in time to see him fishing a gun out of the small of his back. He checked the gun, ejecting the clip before replacing it and holding out the weapon, grip first. Though he held it past Doc, the old man made no move to interfere as she took it.

She'd never fired a gun with a clip before. Her derringers were one shot, and when she'd practiced with a six-shooter, it had been a cylinder-loading pistol. She examined it briefly before locating the safety and flipping it off.

If this was really going to kill Millie, she wanted that responsibility to be hers and hers alone.

"How many bullets are in that gun, young man?" Doc asked Aaron, quietly.

Meryl gritted her teeth. "I only need one."

Doc released a slow breath. "I suppose that's true," he conceded. "Elizabeth, could you be a dear and hand me that medical bag in front of you?"

Elizabeth started to move, but stopped, her expression shifting from confusion to something more careful. "May I ask why?"

Doc's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "To finish off Vash, of course," he said matter-of-factly. "It won't be quite as messy as a bullet to the head, but should be nearly as instant and just as painless."

Meryl tore her eyes away from the sleeping man she was contemplating murdering and stared at him in shock. Had he just said –

"Why would you do that?" Elizabeth's voice was absolutely calm. Just as she'd been in the conference rooms with Gray and Phillips and Greer.

Doc looked confused. "Well, I won't let him needlessly suffer," he replied. "He's beyond my help. Knives is his only hope of survival. If I am interpreting Meryl's actions correctly, she plans to destroy that hope."

"What?" Meryl couldn't believe the voice had been hers.

Doc dropped the act, and leaned heavily against the truck. His face had lost most of the affected confusion, and he looked even more tired than he had before. "Vash is dying. His Gate – the source of his Plant-derived powers – has become inactive."

She just stared at him, and he tried again. "Since Vash is a Plant, there are parts of his physiology that require that energy in order to keep functioning. It's one of the reasons he can fight so tirelessly, and move so quickly. Without it, he will essentially . . . starve to death." He seemed to be fishing for an analogy she'd understand. "A human can live for weeks on just water, but they will eventually die. This is akin to that concept."

Aaron was watching Doc, his face unreadable. "You want to use Vash to buy time."

Doc glanced at the large, muscular man beside him. Then he nodded. "Yes," he admitted. "It's risky, but it's the only solution I can think of."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, and Meryl felt the now-familiar irritation at being left out of the loop. "Buy time?"

"If we present a newly conscious Knives with Vash in this condition, his first actions will be an attempt to save his brother's life," Doc explained. "Knives proved that by rushing recklessly into a dangerous situation with no backup plan. In every situation Vash has mentioned to me previously, Knives never does anything that thoughtless."

His eyes flickered to the two Plants, studying them a moment as though he could see them moving in his theoretical future. "Knives knows significantly more about his own physiology than I do, and has the additional advantage of being a Plant himself. He may know of something I don't."

"He forced Vash's hand in July," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "You think he can trigger Vash's Gate the same way?"

Oh. Of course.

Doc nodded. "Perhaps. In any case, I doubt Knives will even bother to kill us before he has managed to stabilize his brother. That gives us enough time to try to reason with him."

"You doubt?"

"Reason with him?"

Meryl and Aaron had spoken at nearly the same time, and exchanged a look. Doc just looked at Meryl, and it wasn't long before she no longer had an excuse to ignore his gaze.

"Please."

But . . . "But what if you're wrong?"

Doc pursed his lips and sighed. "Then we would be making a very grave mistake indeed," he admitted. "The safest choice is simply to kill them both. Though I wish we'd come to that conclusion before we'd gone to all the trouble of breaking them out of the place that would have been happy to complete that task for us."

Meryl almost smiled. Trust Doc to remind them that they were in this situation because they'd been worried about Vash in the first place.

"I respect your medical opinion," Elizabeth said, from across the truck, "but I don't believe you would kill Vash."

Doc met her gaze with steel. "If his Gate should discharge uncontrolled, a quarter of the planet could be destroyed," he answered. "Vash will probably not regain consciousness. If Knives is not alive and aware to control that discharge . . . it would be remiss of me to allow that situation to take place."

Meryl stared back at the Plants. At Vash, eyes still closed, unaware of the conversation going on right above him. Knives looked just as he did before. Millie wasn't stirring in the front seat.

Knives would have no idea they'd had this discussion.

He'd just think they'd spared him. He wouldn't know that she'd held a gun, pointed at his forehead.

Would that be enough to undo the damage Elizabeth's explosives attempt had caused? Would it be enough to stay his rage?

What happened if Knives couldn't save Vash either?

"Do you really think it'll work?"

That, surprisingly, came from Aaron, and Doc turned, leaning against the truck bed with his right arm over the side.

"I think it might," he said, after a long pause. "I like the idea of having two humanoid Plants on this planet a lot better than I like the idea of destroying them."

"We're talking about all the humans on Gunsmoke."

Doc shrugged. "You were the ones to hesitate."

Meryl's brain stalled. He was right.

But the negotiator in her knew exactly what he was doing. Manipulating their emotions.

And he was doing a damn good job of it.

Could it work? Was this the other way? The other way Vash couldn't find in his fight with Legato?

"No one has the right to take the life of another, huh," she growled. Doc barked a laugh.

"I can keep Knives from killing us when he wakes. Will you all agree to let him come around and at least hear him out?"

Aaron shifted besides Doc. "You brought inhibitors with you, didn't you."

Doc just nodded. "It will keep him psionically dampened as well as physically weak. He won't have access to any of his Plant powers."

"What will that do to Millie?"

Doc frowned. "Considering the first time she woke he was in an inhibited state, I hope nothing."

Meryl noticed Elizabeth shift slightly, but the engineer didn't say anything.

This was insane. "Are we really considering this?"

Aaron sighed. "It's a significantly smaller threat," he volunteered.

Of course Knives would lie to them.

But at least they could get a gauge on how concerned he was about Vash. And whether he could save him or not. Right?

But what if he could? Then what?

Then Vash will be around to talk to him, her brain chipped in. Maybe Vash can do whatever it was he did that caused Knives to behave in the first place.

No, that couldn't work –

But what if it could?

What did it hurt to ask?

Meryl lowered the gun, suddenly aware that her arms were starting to tremble with the unnatural weight.

She'd never be able to do this if she didn't do it now.

She glanced at Elizabeth, who was staring not at Knives but at Vash. This was her dream come true, both the Plants being wiped out, surely she'd not change her mind –

"Okay," she said softly.

Meryl blinked, then sighed quietly. "I agree."

Doc seemed to straighten rather than slump. "Thank you." It was quiet, but sounded genuinely grateful. "He can be awake in three hours. Shall we do this tonight, or tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow." They all glanced at Aaron. He seemed uncomfortable with their attention. "We need a night's sleep," he said, by way of explanation. "I doubt any of us are going to sleep ever again if we agree to let him live."

Meryl couldn't help a sudden, reactive smile. It cut the tension considerably, and she shook her head, putting the safety back into the on position before offering Aaron his gun back.

This was insane. It was either going to be the dumbest decision anyone on Gunsmoke had ever made, or it was going to close to the dumbest.

She stared at the twins again before she pulled the blanket back up around Vash's shoulders. It would be cool soon enough, and at least now she knew why he had a fever.

He wasn't okay. Not by a longshot.

- . -

**Author's Notes**: You may have noticed I attempted to tie Tessla into this mostly anime-based universe. I'll have Millie and Knives cover that in a little more detail in further chapters. It was necessary to explain why Knives was so unsettled by finding an empty bulb and Vash's prosthetics. Those that have not read the manga – Tessla is in there, and what I added of her here was straight from the manga.

And that's all I got. Sorry, ReadingWhiz, I didn't cover as much of the escape as I think you would have liked. And I don't mind telling you folks I'm just waiting for the hailstorm of dissent regarding Meryl's characterization in this chapter. I can take the criticism, I can::thumps chest to prove it, then winces:: Again, thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If you do have a valid counterpoint to Meryl here, I'd love to hear it, or any other plotholes you've discovered!


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

(Yes, an update. It's real. ; )

- . -

The twin suns were no more or less bright than usual –so much for the claims they were burning out. The sky was blue, but not any more intensely than usual. Though she searched the heavens for several long minutes, there was no single quality she could tuck away into her memory, nothing for her to pull off the shelf and say 'This is what I saw the morning we let Knives wake up.'

It was almost disappointing. There was _nothing_ special about the morning. Not one thing.

Doc stretched on his perch, a folded up tarp that had served as the night's extra windgard, though it hadn't been necessary. The tents they'd pilfered from the ship were amazing – like nothing she'd ever seen. They anchored well, breathed without letting out the heat, and were still slick and clean despite the night's winds. Similarly, the rations they had taken were convenient and filling. A meal that cooked itself, and left you only with a shell container that you threw away rather than washing.

Doc hadn't eaten much of his. He was old, and small, and probably didn't need much food, but it worried her. He was not feeling as well as he was pretending to. And he was pretending to because they needed him to be fine.

They were all pretending, for the same reason.

Meryl Stryfe gave up her search of the sky and instead let her gaze fall across the desert past the old man's wrapped shoulder. Aaron was out there somewhere checking to make sure they weren't going to be unfortunately interrupted in their morning endeavor to prevent genocide. It would not do to give Knives any more ammunition than he already had. No one had gone with Carter; though it was dangerous, she was pretty sure he preferred the solitude.

Elizabeth, the only one of them available _to_ have gone with, was leaning on the opposite side of the truck from Doc, keeping one eye on the production plant and the other firmly fixed on something only she could see. Meryl doubted it was a blue-coated traveling priest.

Wolfwood would have had no trouble doing what they had failed to do last night. She was sure of it.

Meryl's eyes fell of their own accord to the sand gathering against the truck tire, her ears pricking back to the one tent they hadn't broken down yet. The fabric was snapping a little in the breeze, but the sound was soothing and random enough to drown itself out into so much background noise. It wasn't what she was looking for, and it wouldn't interfere with her hearing the sound she was listening for. The sound she wasn't going to hear, at least not for a while.

Millie hadn't woken.

She hadn't so much as twitched when Aaron had gently picked her up out of the cab and transferred her into the tent Meryl had hastily set up. That wasn't strange, after all; she probably hadn't gotten much sleep in the past few days, not if that terrified look she'd worn in the infirmary had been any indication of her stay at Knives' side. But as they lessened the drugs, her sleep had changed. Meryl was an expert; she'd shared untold nights with the other girl, and the sound of Millie's breathing was something she actually missed when they had separate rooms.

Something about it changed. It was slower than it should be. Shallower. It lacked sound that wasn't really there, that teasing echo of a happy sigh on every breath that indicated Millie was in the midst of some pleasant dream. The closer Knives came to consciousness, the less Millie was Millie.

But of course that was going to happen. She knew it was going to happen. When Knives opened his eyes, Millie might stop breathing altogether.

All of them might.

Gravel and sand crunched out to her left, but Meryl didn't bother to watch Aaron approach. The horizons were clear, then; he'd climbed to the top of the rock outcropping and that was the highest thing for miles. He'd dislodged the carrion birds earlier, and the racket they made reminded her unpleasantly of a man in a white coat, and the feeling that they weren't going to go far, not when they had pretty much been handed a meal that cooked itself, and would leave behind empty shells to be thrown away.

"How much longer?" The engineer had a knack for thinking along the same lines, and it was really starting to irritate Meryl.

"Not long," Doc reassured her, his tone dry. And, as usual, he wasn't wrong.

By the time Aaron had finished his walk back, confirming with a look that there would be no interruptions, Knives was already beginning to come around. She could tell it in his eyes, the lines around them deepening as he became aware of the sun. He was in the shade of the trucks, laid out on one of the same cots they had all slept on, wrapped in the same blanket his brother wore. Vash was beside him, within touching distance despite Elizabeth's protest.

If Knives couldn't move, as Doc said he wouldn't be able to, there was no need to put him that close to Knives. Doc simply wanted to make sure that Knives could see him well enough to understand what they were going to tell him was the truth.

Not that they were likely to get the same courtesy in return.

It was frighteningly like watching Vash wake up. When she'd taken care of Knives at the house, he had always been fully aware of his situation; she'd never seen him unguarded like this. His eyes slitted, then closed in resignation, just like Vash when he realized it was morning and he was going to have to get up. The second attempt came almost immediately after, the settling in of memory. The realization that something horrible had happened.

How many times she had seen Vash wake in a panic.

Blue eyes, lifeless ice without the green, flew open before they were ready. Knives sucked down the deepest breath he could, and had he been Vash, he would have been sitting bolt upright. True to Doc's word, however, little besides his Adam's apple jerked as he tried, and short, sharp gasps cut the morning air.

Knives wasn't as good with pain as Vash was, Meryl reminded herself.

Doc opened his mouth and spoke.

"Good morning." His voice was calm. "I took the liberty of giving you a mild stimulant. We needed you cogent. You have noticed you cannot move or access your Plant-derived abilities. This is temporary."

No one had protested Doc's plan. Knives wasn't likely to honor any agreement he couldn't remember.

He twitched at the voice, barely, his head turning slightly towards the sound, with wild white eyes. Doc gave him a slow smile. "We will not harm you," he continued, in the same calm voice. "I will give you a moment to gather your bearings."

Meryl didn't miss Aaron's hand shift subtly to his pistol. She knew she wasn't taking her hand off hers until she was sure Knives was back under. The look on his face was making the hair on her arms stand up.

Knives, for his part, did essentially as Doc had instructed. After another hard look at Doc he rolled his eyes upward, catching sight of the rock outcropping they had taken shelter beneath. A landmark on the way to Eden, Doc had predicted. His eyes passed over the top of her head; Meryl had purposefully placed herself outside of his expected field of vision, but she was still close enough to be useful if necessary.

Knives did not appear to be eased. When his exploration finally concluded with a glance to his right, his breathing became curiously deeper, and increasingly steady.

Just like Vash, he had assessed his situation and determined a course of action. Without any input from them at all.

"He is still alive," Doc assured the Plant. "But I will not lie to you. He's not well."

From her angle, it was impossible now to see the expression on Knives' face, just the line of his cheekbone and his hair. His Adam's apple bobbed again, but he did not speak, and after a moment Doc's smile drooped and he continued.

"As you can see, we're taking you both to Eden. We've woken you to ask for your help."

Knives did not shift his attention back to the doctor. "Why?" His voice was not as raspy as she thought it would be, nor did he slur like Millie had. In place of these imperfections was a deep malice, too familiar for comfort.

No matter how calm he appeared, he was every bit as incensed as he had been the last time she had spoken with him, and if he could have moved, they would all be worse than dead.

Giving him this chance had been a mistake.

Doc, however, seemed completely unruffled. In answer, the wizened old man shifted his gaze to Vash. Vash was covered up to his shoulders, to keep him warm in the cool morning air, and he looked as he had the night before.

"Vash's installation was not completed without its problems." Doc gave Knives time to interrupt, but the Plant's sole attention was on his brother. Meryl did not mistake it for patience. "He produced minimal amounts of power before he was uninstalled. The chemicals necessary to force the manifestation of his Gate interfered with his transition back to his humanoid form. Presently his Gate is completely inactive."

Standing slightly apart from all of them, Elizabeth shifted. Knives' attention drifted to her only briefly before his eyes bored once again into Doc's. They had cooled visibly from his initial surprise. "So what."

Meryl almost stopped breathing.

Doc, however, gave the Plant an apologetic smile. "I cannot save him. If his Gate is not reactivated, he will die."

Knives managed a disgusted snort. "Obviously." It dripped with dismissive scorn. "And? You expect me to believe you spared me to save him?"

"Yes," Doc answered plainly.

Knives closed his eyes, either against the sun or their apparent lack of any discernable intelligence. "Then why are there still inhibitors in my blood?"

"Make no mistake, we also intend to survive." They had all agreed earlier in the morning to let Doc do the talking, given how handily he had manipulated them the night before. She was starting to doubt the wisdom of that decision. Talk about putting their cards out on the table. "I could think of no other option that would guarantee us the opportunity to speak."

Knives was silent a moment, eyes still closed. "You want me to spare your lives in return for the privilege of watching my brother die from the damage you spiders inflicted?"

"We didn't put him in that bulb," Elizabeth suddenly blurted, and Meryl's eyes widened when she saw the look on the engineer's face. Elizabeth was no longer leaning against the truck, and her elegant fingers were twisted into fists. "Don't lay there and pretend this wasn't your fault!"

Knives' eyes blazed open, and his head partially rose from the cot. "How _dare_ you-"

Aaron had moved when she did, both of them had pistols in their hands, but Knives did not rise magically from the cot with his Angel arm fully extended. She could still see the tops of his shoulders, his arms and back had not moved –

"They went after him to get to _you_, Knives! They knew you caused the Great Fall!" She took a step towards the cot, visibly shaking. "They only managed to catch him because he was so exhausted from trying to follow _your_ goddamn rules! Anyone could see he was falling apart, and you did _nothing_ to help him!"

"My rules?" It would have been a sneer if Knives had not been so furious. "_My rules?_ If Vash was following _my rules_ you would be atoms bonding to the ashes of your worthless parents!"

She reeled as only Elizabeth could, a slight wounding in her eyes, never affecting her carriage. For a moment there was silence, and the snapping of the tent canvas behind Meryl. When Knives spoke again, his voice was deceptively calm. "Never again speak of that which you do not understand."

"We understand." Meryl heard her own voice as if someone else was controlling it. As if Legato was making her speak instead of her own brain. "We understand that you'll use this as an excuse to claim your agreement with Vash is broken."

"And the validity of that can be deliberated at length," Doc cut in, seeing an opportunity to regain control of the conversation. "However, to do that, all parties must be capable of speech. I perhaps better than any of the others understand what you are capable of, and the risks involved with letting either of you survive. Still, I propose just that. Grant us safe passage to Eden. I will help you as much as I am able. Once Vash has recovered, there will be plenty of time to worry about the future."

Knives cut his eyes back to his brother, and the tent snapped again in the sudden silence. Elizabeth was visibly holding herself back, back straight and chin high, and Meryl didn't dare look to Aaron. He had to be feeling the same; this was not going well, and it was not going to end well. Letting him see Vash like this, and expecting anything from him-

"You're wrong, old man." Knives' voice was quiet, and rock-hard. "On every count but one."

Doc slowly slumped, his smile growing weary. "Then I look forward to being educated."

Meryl blinked. Somehow she had heard nothing that sounded remotely like agreement, rational discourse, or sanity, but Doc was relaxing as if the battle was over-

"And what of the inhibitors?" The way Knives said it, so casually, it was as if it wasn't even a question.

"A gesture of goodwill," Doc said expansively, and this time it was Aaron to step forward. The old man raised a few fingers to forestall any further interruption, however, and his smile was as enigmatic as usual. "When you awaken in Eden, I shall turn over the remainder to you myself."

Of course. Even Doc wasn't stupid enough to let Knives off his chemical leash until they were safely in the homicidal Plant's private stronghold. Particularly since no humans were allowed to know its location, so naturally arriving there was equivalent to a death sentence even under the twins' supposed agreement.

As she'd pointed out last night. Meryl stared at Doc until she caught his attention, then raised her eyebrows. He gave her a short nod in return, and Knives' eyes followed. He was getting more motor control; this time she was certain he glimpsed her.

"You and the engineer I may tolerate. No one else."

Doc shook his head, slowly. "I'm afraid not," he corrected. "There was no practical way to hide the path to Eden from them. I do not believe excluding them at this juncture is in any party's best interest."

The way Doc had so carelessly phrased it, it was the most reasonable sounding threat Meryl had ever heard. Knives responded by baring his teeth.

"Oh, I know what you're going to say," Doc interrupted him smoothly. "And you_ will_ guarantee our safety. Until Vash recovers, I will have your word that we are secure in your care."

Knives lips' curled in contempt. "And what do you suppose will happen when he doesn't?"

"We are ready to take that risk for those that are dear to us." Doc's voice was very soft. "Millie Thompson is also very badly hurt, and I would insist on your assistance in healing her. She played a vital role in saving both you and your brother from permanent installation, as well as rescuing the production Plant from the ship."

At the mention of her name Knives' face seemed to grow a touch sterner, but when Doc mentioned the other Plant, it melted into something . . . calculating. "Denying them a power source. My, you did think of everything."

It was humorless, touched with condescension. And however backhanded a compliment, it made the hair on the back of Meryl's neck stand up. Elizabeth looked ready to speak again, but something made her pause, and a quick glance at Carter revealed only wariness.

"Naturally," Doc murmured. "Ideally, once Vash and Millie have recovered the current process will go forward. We are not interested in interfering with the transition from Plant-based power to other means."

For a time the Plant was silent. Though he hadn't gone about it the way she might have, Doc had done a pretty good job of laying out options. It was still colossally foolish, but Knives had very little choice but to agree.

Then again, that was a foregone conclusion. Of _course_ he was going to agree. The devil was in the details.

"If you are truly so attached to my brother, I can expect that you will abide by his wishes?"

Doc's eyebrows climbed half an inch. "Vash is very dear to us indeed. And if he, free from influence, also determines that all of humanity should be exterminated for this offense, I don't see that we would have a choice."

There was a flash of dry humor in the ice. "Your sight is better than I thought. Very well. I will grant your party passage to Eden. If you operate within my rules, you will not be harmed."

And there it was. The capitulation without the surrender of control.

"And what are your rules?"

Knives' eyes bored into Doc's face, unblinking. "You will surrender all weapons, including chemicals, prior to crossing the border into Eden. Once you have arrived, you may not attempt to leave. You will remain in the designated area. You will not interfere. You will not interact with any citizen of Eden."

"Will we be provided with shelter from the elements, and provisions, or should we bring our own supplies?" There was not the faintest hint of sarcasm. And it was a good catch; as far as those rules were concerned, the 'designated area' could be as large as the amount of ground they stood upon. As soon as they stumbled they would technically be in violation.

The corner of Knives' lips twitched. "You will share the same cells and meals as my other human servants."

Meryl frowned in thought. It was unlikely that Knives would consider any human to be a citizen, so he had just neglected to forbid them from interacting with the human servants. Not that they were likely to get much out of them. A grinning group of Gung-Ho Guns formed in her mind's eye, and she suppressed a shudder. On second thought, forbidding the human servants from interacting with _them_ sounded like a rule to lobby for.

"And forgive me for being so detailed, but do your human servants typically find these cells and meals adequate for survival?"

"For the duration I anticipate."

Doc's smile grew wide. "Perhaps we will take our supplies along in the name of self-sufficiency."

Knives' lips pulled upwards in an expression she had _never_ seen from Vash. "Indeed."

"Then we have an accord." Certainly not a contract. "We shall continue to travel in a northerly direction from this point. Forgive me, but our transportation is limited. For everyone's comfort and safety, I will be keeping you mildly sedated until our arrival."

Surprisingly, Knives closed his eyes. "I would prefer the drugs to further discourse with you."

Doc moved then, unfolding his legs and standing from atop his creased tarp. Knives did nothing. He did not open his eyes nor turn his head as the old man withdrew a syringe from his front pocket and ran it one-handed into the catheter on Knives' right arm. Meryl might have mistaken the gesture for submission had she not spent those hours nursing him back to health last summer; Knives was genuinely ignoring them, plain and simple. He did not catalog them as a threat.

Even as he was falling unconscious, he believed that he'd already won.

And in all likelihood, he was right.

Doc crouched over the Plant a moment, and when Knives' expression melted again into a mask of his brother, the wizened old man straightened. "I think that went as well as could be expected."

Rocks hissed as they were pressed into sand. "So you think Eden really is due north?"

"Close enough, my boy." Doc settled back into his tarpaulin throne and regretfully capped his syringe. "I can put him under deeply enough to possibly rouse our young navigator, but frankly I think it would do her more harm than good. We are well within the general vicinity Ms. Thompson laid out."

"You were too lenient." Elizabeth's face was cold. "You should have forced him to acknowledge his position."

"His position as what?" Doc's voice was mild. "As our prisoner? We can kill him, yes, but all the drugs in the world would never force him to do as we wished. What is the purpose of making him lie to us?" The old man sighed, and ran his good hand up his bandaged arm. "No, my dear. When we made the decision to try to save Vash and Millie Thompson, we gave Knives all the power. What we have done is express to him that we're aware of that."

"That was a mistake," Elizabeth repeated. "He'll see through pandering."

Meryl glanced behind her as the tent snapped. It wasn't pandering. Doc was right; their decision to give Knives the opportunity to talk . . . it was essentially meaningless. What was he going to say? Please kill me? Of course he was going to let them tell themselves that there was a way out of this that didn't end with the extinction of the human race.

The real conversation would take place when they arrived in Eden. They had until Vash woke – or never did – to fight for every last human life on the planet. This conversation had had a foregone conclusion.

The only real choice facing them now was whether or not to change their minds about Millie and Vash.

Meryl felt uncomfortable under their eyes. It was a presence on her shoulders that made her want to twitch. There were loopholes, yes. Specifying that Vash had to be free of Knives' or a drug's influence had been good, but 'interfering' could mean almost anything.

Then again, on page seventy-whatever in the Bernardelli handbook, making contracts with patients under the effect of doctor prescribed sedatives was strictly forbidden.

Millie would remember the page.

Her eyes widened, and she went back over the words in her head. Doc said insist. He had insisted that Knives help. Knives had agreed.

"It's hardly ironclad," she finally offered, then cleared her throat. That was hardly a professional evaluation, Meryl Stryfe! Get it together! "You hit the high points, but we'll need to err on the side of caution. And I expect it goes without saying, but security from any humans that might be in Eden is hardly guaranteed."

Aaron inclined his head.

Meryl hesitated. "He didn't mention that we tried to kill him earlier." Was it possible that he didn't know . . . ? That Millie was able to hide that from him? Would she have?

Doc's eyes were bright as he looked at her. "I noticed that myself."

"There were no closing provisions," Elizabeth noted. "He never said we could leave."

Doc glanced up at the suns, shading his eyes with his good arm. "If Vash recovers, Knives would never tolerate humans remaining in Eden. We won't have to ask; we'll be lucky if we aren't thrown out with only the clothes on our backs."

If Vash didn't, it was all moot. And since those risks and players hadn't changed in the last eight hours . . .

"Mr. Carter, could I trouble you for assistance loading everyone back into the trucks?"

-x-

It wasn't the first time he'd seen terraforming. Several of the uber rich on Gunsmoke could afford gardens of half a square ile or so, and there were some actual fields in areas where water occurred naturally. His duties didn't always leave him sweating blood in stuffy cupboards. He'd seen most of what Gunsmoke had to offer, one way or another.

The outskirts of Eden, from a botanical point of view, were fairly underwhelming.

There were scraggly patches of wiry grass, sufficient to excite a herd of thomases but nothing like the fantastical fields of Earth. He hadn't really expected a sudden line in the sand, lushness to nothing – that wasn't how the real world worked. Gardens only grew that way when rich boys with no handle on how to spend their father's money designed them.

This place, it was designed by a Plant. There was plenty to see in the way the dunes rolled gently. Those patches of grass meant the sand was not transient – this soil would stay more or less put. The hills in the distance looked similarly scraggly, and they had a lovely view for iles and iles.

Eden, more than any paradise, was a military base. There was no cover of anything that would get them through this unseen. The ground was diverse enough that simple camouflage of rock and sand wouldn't cut it. The wiry grass did not appear to have a pattern but it was irregular enough that a moving patch of it would be readily apparent. And it was very likely that at least three sides of Eden were similarly landscaped.

If Knives had left anyone besides the production Plants to guard his home, then they should have been spotted twenty minutes ago, and a decent sharpshooter would have enough time for a shit and a shave and still have ample opportunity to pick them off at his leisure. Sneaking away was not a viable option.

Aaron Carter wiped sweat out of his eyes and scanned the horizon for air disturbances. Anything too cold or too hot would be visible, would indicate tunnels or some other transit system besides what was essentially a dirt road. Would indicate a border. He was leading, with Stryfe glued pretty much to his bumper, so their dust trail looked more like a bus than a convoy, and that was cutting down on extraneous airborne crap. He hadn't picked out anything suspect yet, but it didn't mean it wasn't there.

They'd have to do that surveillance from the other side, then. If they got the chance.

Miss Elizabeth was still and silent beside him. She'd been here, probably enough times that she knew whether or not she'd taken this path before. He didn't ask. It didn't really matter.

Topping the first hill gave him a peek at what lay beyond, which was unsurprisingly still pretty dry. More grass, a few low shrubs. All of this was the planet greedily sucking atmospheric water, it was a symptom of whatever the Plant had been doing, rather than the product. There was no indication of man here, no outbuildings, no footprints in the sand that rolled beneath their tires. No gate with an armed contingent, no trespassing signs.

No fuel pump, either, and he watched the gauge steadily decrease as he climbed a steeper hill. Combining both tanks might get them back to Mei. That would add another few minutes of prep to an impossibly long escape.

Who was he kidding. Their only way out of here was the fourth wall – which wouldn't be like the other three – or some diversion that blew half or more of Eden to hell. And grass and sand weren't all that explosive. Successful circumvention of Knives' rules – or retreat if Knives chose to reinterpret – was not feasible.

The second ring of hills was the last, and as expected, it dipped into a deep valley. The area was too large to be a volcanic crater, though it was certainly in the right area for one, and the fourth wall turned out to be a gently rolling plain that probably went on for two dozen iles.

Only the valley had been terraformed, but it was enough even to distract him for a moment. The shrubs were _gigantic_. They had to stand at least a dozen men tall, and even an uneducated glance told him there were over half a dozen kinds. Their stems were so broad and dark that he probably could have rammed one full tilt without bringing it down.

There were innumerable sniper positions in that thicket, but it would give equally good cover to them. Especially the insurance agent. She was small enough to probably live up there. The giant ones only went on for perhaps half a square ile, and the rest was what he had come to expect – lush, knee-height grass, interspersed with taller, more structured plants that were in various forms of flowering or blooming.

More importantly, their sand road suddenly became hard-packed dirt, and it led to what was clearly a large, grand house. There were several outbuildings nearby, all squat and square and sterile white.

If ever there was a border, this was it.

Aaron brought them to a halt at the flat ridge that marked the very top of the ring of hills, and let the engine die. There was no sign of live humans. No servants trimming the verge, no wink of motion in the drapes of the manor house. No gun turrets, either. No visible defenses of any kind.

Then again, he supposed the Plant's turret was portable.

With no other option for testing, or declaring their intentions, he opened the truck door and climbed out. Doc had been traveling in the back of Stryfe's truck, and he could see the truck shifting on its struts as someone moved around in the back. Thompson was visible, sacked out in the front passenger seat. She didn't appear to have shifted much. Meryl had similarly exited her vehicle and was taking advantage of the break by hydrating. She was still wearing the insurance agent mantle of cool confidence, but beneath it fight or flight was prominent. She was not as certain as she wanted to appear.

As stupid as it had been not to send at least one of them back, he understood. Even if Knives hadn't figured it out in the ten minutes he'd been conscious, sooner or later he was going to. If Thompson had been that connected to him, it made sense that he could get at her brain just as easy. If there was anything left of it. And if they claimed to be dealing with Knives truthfully, but sent a human back to civilization, one that knew the general location of Eden, it would be the same as reneging.

And at least Stryfe could take care of Thompson. She could have that closure at least.

He turned back to the valley, watching the approach, but there was still no motion. In fact, considering there should have been half a dozen Plants wandering around, he was surprised. Was this a dummy Eden? A hologram to snare unwary travelers?

Quiet voices carried on the twilight air, and he sharpened his attention as Miss Elizabeth exited the vehicle.

She didn't meet his eye, but she did deposit her emergency firearm on the truck seat. Then she closed the door, not quietly, and leaned on it with an attitude of boredom.

He hesitated. Usually it was Sunjy that cautioned her about this kind of behavior in rough parts of town. She was flaunting her best weapons, but that might not be the kind of attention she could fend off here. Not after Stryfe's warnings.

And Sunjy could get away with those kinds of cautions. He'd known her since before she'd developed those weapons. He'd seen the man actually adjust Miss Elizabeth's bosom outright, and at the time, she had simply blushed. None of her other employees, himself included, would dare to take such liberties, but Sunjy had been fearless.

Not for the first time, he wondered how long she could keep it together.

The creak of springs behind him signaled a significant shifting of weight, and Aaron settled into grunt mode before turning and staring through his eyebrows. Doc must have been weaning the Plant off the hard stuff for hours, because Knives was on his feet, with the blanket wrapped almost carelessly around his waist. Aaron knew exactly how much the Plant weighed, and he'd gotten a good estimation of his physique when he was out, but seeing him in motion . . . he moved as if he knew exactly how to use all those muscles. If the hot sand on his bare feet was a problem, it wasn't evident.

Aaron was similarly evaluated, and he remained slightly overbalanced and dead-eyed. Light blue eyes slid past him, perhaps assessing how far they'd come into his territory before waking him, and then the bastard spoke.

"Take them."

Elizabeth was still in his line of sight, always in his line of sight, and he actually saw, clearly, a shaft of light reach out and touch her. She jumped, startled, and the light moved with her-

And the outline of a figure, too vividly green against the more wiry grass of the outskirts.

Pressure, on the back of his neck.

Of course. They weren't moving quickly, so there was no air displacement. No more sound than if he'd reached out to tap Miss Elizabeth on the shoulder.

Aaron turned and made a grab for his attacker, and this time he knew what he was looking for. Something that was bending light. Maybe it was hologram technology, and it didn't work if the background was lighter than the figure.

He was staring at a man. About his height, and rail thin, a double dollar twenty if. Pale, more pale than the sunset, and as the hand withdrew, it almost looked as if it was covered in down. Whoever he was, he moved like a cat, carelessly dodging the attempted grab. Aaron took a step in to shorten the distance between them, and then he was fairly certain he was shot. Multiple hits, simultaneous.

He hadn't heard a goddamn thing, but nothing else would feel like this, unless –

Knives – the guy's name was _Knives-_

He heard Miss Elizabeth cry out, but he couldn't manage more than a muffled grunt. His legs, his arms, his chest – Jesus, his chest. He could feel his heart seize up and falter. He was on the ground, now, his head arched back, and he could not move the arms crushed against his chest. Could not take a breath. His vantage showed him the underside of the truck, and in his peripheral, always, Miss Elizabeth, curled up grotesquely in the dirt.

-x-

Author's Notes: Uhm. Hello? Hi there! You might not remember me. I started this crazy complicated Trigun fic and then abandoned it like a hot mess for another fandom. Ehm. Hi?

Well, it's been eating at me slowly, and considering it IS planned out, and Mouse keeps reminding me, and Inkydoo keeps reminding me . . . why not! I suppose I really ought to at least let Vash, oh, I dunno, talk? In a fic that centers around him? I apologize for any style changes and the cliffhanger. And I guess you already expect this, but not everything will be explained in the next chapter. It's kind of a lame update, actually. I'll do better next time!


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

Something had changed. Irrevocably. Something incredibly precious was gone.

The spaces were no longer safe.

Maybe she had known. Maybe she had quieted him, all that time ago, because she had known what it was that was there, in the space. Now he could not ask her. She was missing. The light of her was there, in the spaces, but it was overshadowed by a vapor, nearly tangible, nearly translucent.

He could almost tell that it was there with him, even as he moved from space to space, and sometimes to the voids between. It was there.

It was in all places. It was so near him it was nearly within him. Nearly within his chest, shining with fresh stars. Nearly in his mind. Nearly speaking.

The vapor had a voice, and he knew he did not want to hear it.

So he did as she had instructed. He did not speak. He made not a sound as he moved, ever moving, from space to space. His skin was silent, his feet bare and stepping without a hiss. Long gone was the blood that had clothed them, longer still the brown skin with its stitches and metal bindings. He could be silent. Needed to be silent. Needed to make less noise than the vapor.

So that it would not find him.

Perhaps she had been found. Perhaps that explained her absence. He was quite certain she was not alone, wherever she was. On the fringes it seemed as if there were other smiles, other locks of hair. It was difficult to tell them apart from the vapor, and sometimes there was a breath of air, the result of a disappointed sigh. The vapor would not be disappointed.

The vapor would be furious.

He hoped she was safe. He hoped she had found a place to hide.

And, selfishly, he wished he had gone with her, rather than turning away from her. His hand sought the pearls in his chest, her gift, and he curled his fingers tight against him. He wasn't even sure how well he'd done, if she would be pleased, but there was nothing more to be done. That light was gone now. No matter how he stared, the stars would not glow. It was her smile that had warmed him, but now the vapor cooled. It drew heat from the space as evaporating water might, leaving dry cold and filmy fog.

The same dry cold that lay within him, beneath his ribs and above that curious round dent that was neither hole nor wound. The cold had been growing, ever since the light within him went out. She had so much of it that it remained, even now visible to him despite the nearly mist, and that made him happy. Surely she must be safe.

He did not want her light to go out, as his had. It was wrong. He had done something wrong, and he no longer had the power to make it better. Even if she did, she was gone.

A breath stirred, and he looked despite himself. Looking was dangerous; he could see across all the space, both big and little, and the vapor was nothing when it was right before him, but stretched out across all that void it condensed, and coalesced, and it _was _visible, he could s_ee_ it and that made it real and if it was real, oh if it was real it could-

"-ash, stop!"

The vapor was him.

It had his voice. Lower than hers, harsher. Angry, it was angry, he had known it would be angry and it was not angry that she was gone, but that he was there.

But there was nowhere else to go.

He stumbled backwards, but he had looked, he had seen, and it was too late. The cold spread beneath his ribs – fear, its label was fear – and the red cloth that she had banished crept from the vapor to cover his skin. It brought no warmth.

The vapor stepped forward, it caught hold of him with a movement swift and deliberate, and he realized why he had cast off the red duster, why she had as well. It was simply another binding. He struggled because it seemed that he ought to, that it might make the other him less angry. Blue eyes bored into his, and with his other hand – the vapor him had two – the other pulled him close.

Breath on his face. Not like hers, but warm. He stared in surprise.

"Vash!" It was not only anger in the vapor's voice, there was something else, like wonder but scary. "Idiot, can't you hear me?"

He did not speak. She had told him to be silent. If he was quiet, would the vapor let him go?

The vapor shook him within his crimson binding, eyes searching for a response. Clearly, he was doing something wrong. He tried to move backwards again, and the vapor frowned.

"Vash?"

Vash. Vash the Stampede.

How could he have forgotten?

Now he felt it, the straps against his skin, the cold armor that had burned him so many frigid nights. The boots were back on his feet, his toes were curled hard into them as he tried to brace against nothing. His mechanical arm reached out, completely without permission, and wrapped itself around his brother's wrist.

His brother.

His brother was-

Fear – and it _was_ fear, such that he had not felt for more than a hundred years – welled up the back of his throat. It was Knives.

Knives was here.

Knives was _here._

And if Knives was here, then –

Then-

He planted both his feet against his brother's chest and shoved, hard. He won his freedom; startled blue eyes and light blond hair and then there was space, he moved across vast expanses of it. The coat was a handle, he cast it off. The boots were too loud – his bare feet would be quiet enough. He had to get out of here.

"VASH!"

He had to get away from him.

He had to get away.

He had to-

There was a breath of air against his cheek, and unthinkingly, he turned. The vapor was there, but not quite translucent, not dark enough to be visible. Her light still shone, and he thought he heard a sigh, as if she was disappointed with him.

There was a biting dry cold in his chest, just beneath his ribs, and he wrapped his arm around the dim stars and kept moving.

-x-

The Plant frowned deeply, eyes turned inward now not in concentration but in contemplation, and Doc felt it was safe to sit up.

Safe was, of course, relative. His recently acquired semi-mobile rib was cuddling up to his lungs, which didn't necessarily mean it was now free-floating, but _did_ mean he was long overdue for another dose of anti-inflammatory and should keep movement to a bare minimum. The arm was tingling, tickling, and crawling, but beneath those surface sensations was an incredible pain he associated with dying nerve endings. His chemical buffer, carefully cultivated over the past two days, had been sorely tested.

Whatever drugs they had introduced into his system, the end result was certainly not positive. He grimaced a little as he coaxed his abdominal muscles to haul him up, but there was no tell-tale screaming of lactic acid buildup. Whatever had been done to him, it was not the same as what had been administered to the others.

He had not experienced seizures during his unconsciousness.

Knives ignored him utterly, possibly unaware, and Doc took a moment to get the lay of the lab. It was basically what he had expected; a treasure trove of Lost Technology. He had the same set of diagnostic equipment as Doc himself had, with at least a partial second set that had been repurposed for some type of cellular research. In a room off the main lab he could see a very large tube, tri-sectioned but in total three by eight, currently empty of liquid but more than sufficient to fully submerge an adult human. Doubtlessly that technology had been required to rebuild Knives' ruined body after July.

Through another doorway he could see countless computer monitors and terminals he normally associated with bulb monitoring and control, but of course Knives would have repurposed those as well. The screens were dead, so it was impossible to tell, but terraforming control came immediately to mind as a possibility.

Then again, Knives couldn't possibly be successful at terraforming without at least some Plant energy. Energy he had to either be providing himself, or taking from the Plants that had been 'freed' in his solar energy project. And clearly he was enjoying some success.

There were several examination tables, one of which was quite large, large enough to hold a fully grown, traditional Plant. The closest one had no live occupant and had been reduced to a common table. Upon it sat all of the equipment they had pilfered from the New Kennedy, including his bag.

The only other examination table in the room had a more prestigious inhabitant. Vash was laid out under a white sheet, inserted into a half tube to his chest, and he was the sole vessel of his brother's attention. Knives sat umoving at Vash's head, bare fingers resting lightly against his brother's face and temples. Besides the Plants, there was no other visible living thing in the lab.

Doc took a breath to speak, but found himself coughing instead. It was quite a bit more painful than it had been yesterday, but it saved him the trouble of finding the right words to interrupt; Knives was now fully present, looking directly at him.

"And how is our patient?" Doc managed, in what he had hoped would be a serene manner. A rasp echoed back to his ears. Goodness, he sounded ancient.

Knives made no move to stand, even when Doc swung his legs over the side of one of the cots they had brought with them. Nice of Knives to put him on that, at least, instead of the floor. Perhaps it had been the work of Knives' security detail.

"You already know the answer to that, old man."

Indeed. "To what do I owe this honor?" As there was no sign of Carter, Boulaise, Stryfe, and more worryingly, Thompson, he had been singled out as the only human brought to the laboratory. Clearly Knives had not been treating him. He could have left him with the others until he regained consciousness and sent for him then, rather than keeping him in the lab.

Knives did not reply, merely observed as Doc got to his feet, somewhat stiffly, and made his way to his bag. The drug cocktails he'd designed for himself were still there, as well as the means of administering them, and he was midway through drawing the increased dose when he realized why Knives had not responded to his second question.

It was like Knives had said. He already knew the answer.

"Our agreement included a safe passage clause, as I recall." He returned to the cot, seating himself before crossing his right ankle over his left knee and rolling up his pant leg, and it occurred to him that he had no urge to urinate. Perhaps he hadn't been out as long as he imagined.

"What of it?" Knives' voice was relatively mild. "Did you not find it appropriate to chemically incapacitate me for the 'safety and comfort' of everyone?"

Of course. Knives had said he preferred the drugs. He knew full well what was waiting for them here. There was no doubt the beings – they weren't Plants, at least he didn't _think_ so - that had attacked them had conveyed some type of chemical or hormone through touch. Knives agreeing to be drugged had virtually guaranteed that he intended to use the same technique against them. As the realization set in, the Plant smiled. "Are you saying that that was a violation of your promise not to harm me?"

Doc couldn't help a self-deprecating grunt, and he used the lull to locate a good blood vessel along his calf, wipe it down with a treated pad, and inject the contents of the syringe. "Indeed not. However, you agreed we would be safe and secure in your care. Ms. Thompson would not have survived the treatment you administered to the others without significant injury. If you caused physical or emotional stress to that young lady our agreement is nullified."

Knives leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and pinning him with a glacial eye. He looked very much at home in his lab, despite the fact he was dressed head to toe in body armor. "And what would you do, old man?"

Doc blew out his cheeks in a sigh. That was a very good question. "Hmm. I suppose I'd die, knowing you were no better than a common human thug."

Knives' eye narrowed, and some of the false pleasantry left his tone. "Speak to me in that manner again and the fate of your companions will be pleasurable compared to your own."

Doc gave a short laugh. "My dear Knives, as you have repeatedly observed, my age is advanced. My health is frail. Just how much torture do you really think you could inflict before I simply died?" Then he let his face grow serious. "As for you, you'd be killing the person necessary to decrypt your brother's medical files."

There were only two things missing from his bag. The inhibitors, which he had handed over the moment Knives had regained consciousness, and the disk with the medical files he'd taken from the New Kennedy. That was the reason he was here in the laboratory rather than with the others.

But why hadn't Knives simply taken the information from his mind . . .? Was he giving him the chance to cooperate?

Or was Knives simply ensuring that he had the opportunity to 'interfere.'

An ugly smirk flickered across Knives' face. "Ah, yes. The encryption code. You could have given it to me immediately, yet you withheld it, knowing full well that any delay in Vash's treatment would result in further damage to him."

That was stretching it, and Doc allowed himself to express his annoyance. "I have neither the time nor the inclination to spar with you, young man. I cannot save Vash on my own, and I dare say neither can you. There is no love lost between us, but our goal is the same. For the present, we require one another's cooperation, and to some extent, trust. We must work together."

Knives turned more fully, rotating forty-five degrees on the swiveling chair. "Do not issue ultimatums to me, old man."

It was hard to tell how angry Knives really was. Doc had carefully timed his sedation with the landscape, had ensured that the master of this domain had arrived looking strong, powerful. It was important that it appear to whoever had been waiting that Knives had been successful. Humiliation hadn't seemed to have even occurred to Knives just yet, but it was impossible to see any thoughts behind that light topaz.

Knives could be furious. Or, he could be paying only the slimmest attention to their conversation. There was probably a lot on his mind, and Doc was now quite certain that Knives did not yet remember – or possibly never would – what occurred while Millie Thompson was borrowing his brain. If he did, he would have mentioned it by now.

Which didn't buy them much, but it was something. The fact that Knives was detailing him to death probably meant that the others, wherever they were, were still alive. For the moment, there was still a tenuous truce.

Doc sighed, and tried for a conciliatory expression. "Our promises to you are intact. We were not armed. The inhibitors were exactly where I showed you. We have kept our end of this bargain. If you will not do it for us, you _will_ do it for Vash, won't you?"

The humanoid Plant gave him a long, level look. "The code, old man."

-x-

There wasn't much of the sweet tobacco aroma she'd grown up associating with cigarettes. Really just more burned paper and essence of lousy bourbon. He bought the cheapest he could find, and treated them worse. Left crumpled in his coat pockets, unwrapped and dried up in a few hours.

Humidors. Her father had taught her that. If you wanted tobacco – real leaf tobacco – to be good to you, you had to be good to it. The way that cigarette smoke smelled, it had to have tasted like nothing but ash.

That and the priest always managed to smell slightly like subpar whiskey. The thought of what his mouth must taste like made her tongue twist.

He must have caught her expression, because she heard him sigh, then almost immediately felt a waft of air.

She didn't open her eyes; she didn't want to. She didn't want to move, either. Something told her that scorpions had found her in the night and cuddled up for warmth, and the faintest motion would rouse them in all their stinging fury.

Something was _very_ wrong. And very bad. She needed to be still, and not move from her position.

Nor open her mouth and ask that lousy, good for nothing dead priest to get off his fucking ass and _help her. _ Now that she'd made a face, though, she could taste something sour and bitter in her _own_ mouth, too thin to be blood. Like she'd forgotten to brush her teeth two nights in a row.

A faint tap, then the grind of leather on concrete. Another burst of burnt paper in her nostrils.

Wolfwood was the worst. Angel. Ever. What in the world had she done to get stuck with him as her protecto-

What had she done?

What had they done?

Her eyes flew open.

Her first thought was to realize that she was not back on the ship. She wasn't sure why she expected to be, but there was an unending feeling of dread that shot ice through her lungs. There was – was Knives, there was the truck and the talk and green grass and then Elizabeth screamed-

The white she initially saw had faded a little to a dull ivory, the color she associated with government buildings and the well to do. It was a type of concrete. Her eyes followed the seam of the wall and the ceiling, she didn't dare turn her head. Nothing adorned the walls, nor the ceiling, not even a light. Something dark lay to her right, but she couldn't quite bring herself to shift her head.

Yet despite that ice, nothing happened.

She waited a beat, then another, counting the seconds as her cheekbone ached to her pulse, watching with trepidation as the world itself dimmed and brightened to the same beat. There was no other sound; her worthless angel was gone, though the dark thing beside her remained. No matter how she strained, she could make out no other detail, and after an agonizing collection of breaths, she finally summoned the courage to turned her head.

Not far. Just as far as one click of the vertebrae in her neck. No sting. No rattle. No sound at all, not even the flutter of an insect's wings.

Someone sighed again, and there was air against her cheek. On her right.

Meryl continued to turn her head, every other muscle paralyzed, until she was able to make out contour. The dark blob was as long as a human, shaped a bit like a figure eight lying on its side.

Elizabeth.

She continued to turn her head, painfully slowly, and recognized the pain was not just her anxiety. Her neck _hurt_. She had moved no other limb but she was sure they would, as well. This was the pain of muscle strain. She had used those neck muscles recently, and hard.

Elizabeth was awake, her green eyes open and white-ringed. Her lips were pale beneath the red stain, and though she was lying in what seemed a comfortable position, Meryl could see that she too was as tense and still as a statue.

So it wasn't just her. Elizabeth could feel it too. That unshakeable certainly that there was something terribly, terribly wrong. That they were in terrible danger.

And she didn't doubt that instinct for a moment. Knives had stood, Elizabeth had screamed, and then she recalled nothing.

These white walls – this was Knives' house. This room, this building around them – it was in Eden.

She was in Eden. A place she was never meant to see.

And there wasn't much _to_ see. The floors, like the walls and ceiling, were made of the same cement. Everything was smooth to prevent the buildup of dust and sand, and the floor, at least what she could see of it, seemed clean swept and unmarked.

Maybe Knives had had it made for them. Maybe no one had ever even stepped upon it.

Elizabeth saw that she was awake, but made no move to speak. She looked too frightened to even blink, and it did nothing to calm Meryl.

But there were no scorpions lying beside the statuesque brunette. There were no ropes around her arms, no wire around her wrists. Her hair looked a bit tangled, and a bit dusty, but it wasn't crawling with snakes. Their absence spooked Meryl more than she wanted to admit.

Something in this room was terribly dangerous, and she couldn't see it.

They lay there, staring alternately at each other and at the ivory walls, for what seemed like hours. And Meryl would have happily remained that way if movement at the doorless frame hadn't attracted her attention. A shadow on the wall, a whisper of leather on cement.

This . . . this wasn't . . .

But it was not a rumpled suit that came into view – it was a grey uniform. Terry Asourd's blood-soaked face swam into her field of vision, his hand at his side and hidden from her-

Meryl stifled a gasp, it was too late to play sleeping, but suddenly the face was blockier, more familiar. No blood, that was just a shadow.

Still, her gut dropped. His expression told her more clearly than any words that Aaron Carter was no more at ease than they were.

He was, however, moving. He stepped into their room quickly, scanning it completely before coming to kneel between them. His first attention went to Elizabeth, and Meryl didn't begrudge him it. He tilted her face towards the ceiling, studying her eyes, and gave her a reassuring nod. Though he seemed to be moving a little stiffly, he was moving. No bloodstains. He looked wary but okay.

And that was the first encouraging thing that had happened since they'd let Knives wake.

He had taken them down, but he had let them live.

Elizabeth hissed as her face was moved, and Carter gave her a cursory pat-down. "You had a seizure," he breathed. "You'll be sore." His hands became more delicate as he touched the wrapping around her wrist, and she flinched, tugging it back further into her uniform sleeve.

Once he had apparently assured himself that she was more or less in one piece, his piercing eyes turned and gave Meryl the same once-over. As he made no mention of scorpions, Meryl finally dared to move, turning back to the ceiling and unwrapping her arms from around her chest.

She hadn't known she was hugging herself, and she had _certainly_ pulled some muscles. It felt as if she'd spent the night in the middle of a toma stampede. Her back and her knees were particularly unhappy.

"Aaron-"

"Shh," he cautioned, though the engineer had spoken no more loudly than he. "Someone's nearby."

Someone. That was comforting. At least he hadn't said some_thing_. Emboldened by the lack of anything fatal occurring, Meryl dared to pull herself into a sitting position. Every muscle group hurt. So she could expect that she'd gone through the same general ordeal as they had.

Seizures. Just like Millie.

She dared to brush her fingers along her abdomen, but she felt no tears in the fabric. No bulletholes, either. She would have sworn she had been stabbed, repeatedly, but even prying up the uniform showed –

Meryl paused, then pulled the uniform top forward, peering down inside. Her chest was more or less intact, but there was something . . . Meryl dropped the collar and yanked the fabric out of the waist of her trousers. There _was_ a mark on her stomach, four spots that looked a bit like a rash. Each was no bigger than a fingerprint, and there were no blisters or sores, just red. As if someone had brushed their fingers against a scarlet typewriter ribbon and then touched her. It wasn't even as dark as blood.

She nearly yelped when Carter grabbed the wrist that was holding her shirt up, and she fought him a second before he put a finger to his lips, then used the same hand to pull up her sleeve.

The rash was also present on the underside of her wrist, in only three places. Carter ran a finger over the perfectly flat marks, but they didn't feel any more sensitive than the rest of her skin. She looked at him questioningly, and he released her wrist and turned to Elizabeth.

She had not been watching idly. She too had glanced down the front of her uniform, then pulled up her own sleeve, the one on her good wrist. It bore the same flat red marks, four of them.

And then her eyes went to Aaron.

He rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugged. "Contact drugs," he murmured. It wasn't even a whisper, it hissed less than a whisper would have. She doubted she would have heard him from even a few feet away, and the room was perfectly still.

But when he'd rubbed his neck, she'd seen his wrist. There was no red mark.

Meryl sat up and jerked her chin at him, and he complied, turning his head. He had been right – four marks, in a neat row across the back of his neck. The size of fingerprints.

So whoever had touched them – that was all they had done. Whatever was on their fingertips had done the rest.

But she didn't remember being touched on the stomach. She remembered – her wrist, someone had grabbed it. It had looked like a bright flash of light, she remembered pulling away and glancing at the window, at Millie, still sleeping, and there had been nothing reflected in the glass of the window, just the tall girl unaware of what was happening-

So they had gotten Aaron from behind then. He should feel at least a little better about that.

"Where are they?" Elizabeth murmured, and Aaron gave the room another glance and shook his head.

"Where's Millie?"If he'd been able to get up and leave wherever he had been to get to them, maybe he had seen, maybe Millie was with him-

He shook his head again. "There are more rooms. Stay here."

She watched Carter straighten, a little less gracefully than she had seen him move before, but still silently. He stole from the room with hardly a sound, and she heard faint footfalls as he disappeared.

No shadow followed him. No one spoke.

Elizabeth dared to sit up as well, favoring her wrist and staring around the room for a moment.

Meryl agreed with them. It felt as if the danger was right there in the room with them, but there was literally nothing. No furniture. No power outlets. No lights, no switches on the walls. There was a window large enough to crawl through in the center of the wall facing Eden, and there was cement. Nothing else.

Not even sand in the corners of the room. What was the word Knives had used? Cells?

A guilty stab pushed through her anxiety at the thought of cells. Doc! How could she have forgotten about Doc?

But there was no sound, not even a cough. The minutes ticked by, and finally Meryl could no longer just _wait_. She slowly pulled her legs beneath her, wincing as she stretched complaining muscles, and as quietly as she could, she stood.

At least, that was the idea. Her knees gave almost immediately and dropped her to the floor with a bitten off exclamation. Her knees _hurt_, as if they had been struck with a pole. She hurriedly slipped to her hip and straightened them, but flexing them wasn't painful. It was just when she tried to put weight on them-

Meryl was in the process of rolling up her pant leg when Carter reappeared in the doorway. She gave him an apologetic look even as Elizabeth hissed, and she turned back quickly to get a good look at herself.

Her knees were a mess of bruises, cut in several places. This was no rash. It looked like she'd fallen on them, pretty hard, and onto rocks. They hadn't bled through the uniform trousers, which probably meant it happened when she had lost consciousness.

A little ashamed to have responded so loudly to what was essentially a grown-up version of skinned knees, Meryl grimaced and rolled her pant leg back down. It had been a while since she'd last shaved, she noticed, and then it occurred to her that she wasn't terribly hungry or thirsty.

So how much time . . . ?

"Did you find the others?" Carter was helping Elizabeth to her feet, and she eventually straightened, still favoring the wrist. Meryl massaged her aching knees and tried not to show her disappointment when he simply shook his head.

She did notice something else, though. Right where the front of his collar met his neck. She pointed, to get his attention, and he glanced at the front of his uniform blankly. It was a little sandy but otherwise unmarred.

But Elizabeth had seen it too. She quietly released the snap, and there, just below his collarbone, was another mark. The engineer paused a moment, then undid the next snap. And the next, and then the next, faster than before. He grabbed her hands, stopping her, and she released his uniform jacket to cover her mouth with her hand. It gave Meryl a view of his upper chest.

The rash there was not limited to three or four fingerprints. They had used the whole hand on him, five fingers and a palm. It looked like a normal human handprint. And it looked like there was more than one of them.

Carter stared at his chest a moment before peering inside the jacket. He said nothing, his expression never changed, and he began systematically re-snapping the jacket. It was hard to tell what he thought about that, his jaw had been clenched since he'd first entered their room, but Meryl found she was not surprised.

They were women, together they weighed half what Carter did. If this was a drug that was administered by contact, they would need to administer more of it to him. Maybe they had to put it over his heart to get it into his blood stream more quickly.

But the marks weren't just over his heart.

"The house looks empty." Carter didn't raise his voice even slightly. "The other rooms are like this one."

"How many?"

He held up four fingers. "Every one has a window, but no door to outside."

Meryl turned, noticing for the first time that there didn't seem to be glass, just a square hole. Despite the fact that the house didn't appear to be sealed from the elements, it wasn't uncomfortably hot. Maybe the valley was more temperate . . . ? The air did have a strange fragrance to it, something she couldn't put her finger on. Though she might have considered it pleasant in other circumstances, something about it unnerved her. Like a whiff of cologne when you knew you should be alone in the room.

More bravely than she felt, she forced herself to her feet, forced her knees to hold her weight. It was only a few steps to the window, and she paused in front of it, waiting.

No breath of wind.

Meryl pulled her marked wrist into the cuff of her jacket, then reached out with the corner of the fabric, intent on brushing the glass she knew, she _knew_ had to be there. There was no way it could be this temperate outside and not have a breeze, there was no way they were in Eden and it was _this_ quiet –

And the nonexistent glass rippled like water in a tub.

Meryl flinched back, but it hadn't hurt. Something told her not to touch it with her skin, even when it appeared the fabric on the uniform was not scorched. She turned back to the room, and it was clear Carter and Elizabeth had seen.

"Energy field," Elizabeth supplied. "That's normal Lost tech." Her voice was slightly louder, but just. "It doesn't explain this . . . this feeling."

And Meryl had to agree. "It's like something is . . . is right here." Like Knives was standing right behind her.

It wasn't normal.

Carter was frowning. "I've checked every room. We're alone."

"The drugs," Elizabeth guessed, her voice slightly more confident. "We drugged Knives, remember? He even . . . asked us to . . . "

Meryl closed her eyes, and the spectre of Knives filled the space behind her eyelids, mockingly. _"I would prefer the drugs to further discourse with you."_

"He knew," she said immediately, and she knew she was right. "He planned this from the start."

No wonder he had discounted them. No wonder he had closed his eyes and let them sedate him. She wondered idly if he would let his . . . his new Gung Ho Guns do whatever they had done if he hadn't had such a neat out.

If it was okay for them to sedate him, it was reciprocally part of his agreement not to 'hurt them.'

"I didn't see them. Did you?"

Meryl opened her eyes, and was more relieved than she could say when Carter nodded.

"Some kind of holographic tech, I think. Something was bending the light around them."

"So . . it was . .. was people, right?"

He glanced at Meryl. "I don't think it was the Plants, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not." They were all gaining confidence, Elizabeth's voice was now nearly conversational. "The Gung-Ho Guns . . . not all of them were exactly human, were they."

Unbidden, Legato sneered at her mind's eye, and Meryl swallowed. ". . . not exactly, no."

And if they could bend light, and this house was nothing more than ivory walls –

Then they might very well not be alone after all.

"Well, at least Doc's not here," the engineer observed, staring thoughtfully at what appeared to be an open window. Meryl stared at her a moment before catching on.

Doc was definitely not invisible, and Millie wasn't, either. Knives appeared to be keeping to their bargain, at least as far as keeping them alive was concerned, so it stood to reason that Doc and Millie might be in the same place.

Please.

"So I guess we play by the rules, then?"

Aaron Carter gave the room another once-over, and Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself. Even knowing the fear might be caused by the drugs, Meryl didn't feel any less of it.

"Until we hear otherwise," the engineer agreed. "Aaron, out of curiosity, did you find a washroom?"

-x-

**Author's Notes**: Goodness. I have no excuse. Been trying to write this chapter for ages, then wrote some other stuff, then came back – I'm so sorry guys. Not even sure any of you are still out there, but I DO intend to finish this fic. And it has several chapters to go. For those of you wanting badassery, I can tell you that you will eventually get to see some! You know how Knives likes to be efficient . . . if only some of that would rub off on me . . .

So thank you for your patience! I hope the next chapter won't take a year. =)


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

The results flashed up on the screen, confirming the last four before them, and he dutifully recorded them, then flicked his stylus. The results flew across the screen leaving a wake of green pixels behind, and he heard the telltale chime of their arrival across the room.

Not that either one of them were surprised. Not that the results hadn't been expected.

Were he a few years younger, Doc reflected, he might have hesitated before carelessly flinging undesirable data at Millions Knives. Now, it hardly even registered that what he had just done would normally have gotten him slain on the spot.

No matter how they sliced it, flat injection of Plant energy was having zero affect on Vash's physiology. The degradation of his cells continued. They were starving, but merely soaking them in Plant energy, compatible Plant energy, was not helpful. They could not absorb it that way.

Even though it had worked before.

Doc gathered himself and stood, turning to his left as though it would turn his back to the pain radiating down his right side. It had been a battle between his intellect and his physical needs, but right now, he needed to think. He could worry about that pain – and what it meant – later.

Chances were, if they didn't find a way to stabilize those cells, Vash would die before he did.

A visual inspection of his patient showed that all bleeding had finally ceased. They had in essence bathed him in Plant energy, and he had undergone some healing, yet none of his scars seemed to have visibly filled out any more. What that energy had done – all it had done – was to allow his body to grow new tissue without taking apart existing tissue to accomplish it.

What they had done was what Knives had done in the months and possibly years following the catastrophic damage done him in July.

And it wasn't enough.

Of course, while he had hoped, Doc – and he suspected Knives – doubted it would be that easy. Knives had still had an intact Gate, even if he had lost his lower extremities. His cells were essentially still 'eating' while Plant energy was used to give him the building blocks necessary to regenerate his lost flesh. In the case of Vash, while they could give him the building blocks for new flesh, his body was still starving. The energy required to create flesh was apparently not the energy – or at least not the right state – to replace what his body needed from his inert Gate.

Nor had he just 'healed' those wounds as efficiently as he had done back on Gray's ship. In fact, feeding him building blocks but no energy to help with the conversions might have just done Vash more harm than good. They might have just taken some of his already short time away from him.

And that was probably another conclusion Knives had already reached.

"Knives," Doc began calmly, prying open one of Vash's eyes to check the color of the lower lid, "are you sure I am privy to all the data concerning your regeneration after July?"

There was no response behind him, and Doc gently closed Vash's eyelid and turned to the table beside his, where a childlike, inquisitive face stared blankly at him. He gave it a smile, and the Plant responded immediately, though there was no telltale crinkling around her eyes as there would have been with a human. Her eyes didn't really have pupils, either, and it occurred to Doc that Plants were singularly equipped to lie. They would give no recognizable physical signs of deceit.

The Plant's smile did not falter, which he decided was due to the fact that his observation was not judgmental, and she glanced past him at Vash. Doc followed her gaze, but the Plant did not move from the table, she simply fluttered a strangely small wing and gave a little sigh.

"Did you have something to add, my dear?" he asked her in amusement, but he did not recapture her attention. This one was the second Plant Elizabeth and Vash had uninstalled, her name was Fron. She was likely the most mature of the Plants, and she was the very one whose energies had saved Knives. Short of literally tying Knives down and trying to draw energy from him, Doc couldn't think of a way to ensure the energy they were feeding into Vash was any more 'compatible.'

Though he knew it must have crossed Knives' mind, he had no doubt the other Plant would not be willing to be used in that fashion, even if it meant saving his brother.

But perhaps he was wrong. "Whose Gate is responsible for the terraforming I saw on the surface?" After all, if Knives wasn't using his sisters, then it had to be coming from him.

Or from Vash . . .

He heard the click of the console lock, and then a few long, unhurried strides. Knives said nothing, he merely removed the lines from Fron, who paid him little heed. As the most mature, she had also spent the most time in a bulb, and like traditional Plants – which she was – her understanding or concern regarding her physical surroundings seemed minimal at best. In fact, once entirely free from all restrains and equipment, she reached up an extra leg and toyed with the retractors above her.

Knives gave her a flat look of resigned disbelief, which made Doc choke on a laugh. He covered it with the coughing fit that honestly had followed, and then prudently avoided catching Knives' eye.

"The life you see on the surface is a symptom of Plants being allowed to simply exist," Knives said, his voice as flat as his look had been. "My sister modulated her energies when she realized the damage I had suffered. The modulation we recorded is similar, but subtly different."

Ah. Which meant Knives was thinking that Fron could tell that Vash's damage was different, and had tried – and apparently failed – to help.

Which was unfortunate. It was probable that Fron and her sisters knew instinctively what he and Knives still did not about humanoid Plant physiology.

Doc stifled a sigh. His lungs and rib hurt too badly for it. "The next logical step from my point of view is to try the energies from a humanoid Plant, my dear Knives." It was that, or figure out a way to open Vash's sealed Gate. "Have you any other theories?"

The tall blonde came to stand beside him, though there was still enough space to register his disgust. "Countless," came the curt response. Knives did not elaborate, and Doc inferred that most of them likely had a high probability of failure. They had spent the last two days trying to work around the closed Gate, thinking that it would be an easier, short term solution to the larger problem of a sealed Gate, and what opening it could mean. If Vash was still producing power, and it had nowhere to go, he could literally be a bomb waiting to go off even as he starved himself to death.

And standing beside a silently glowering Knives was not getting him anywhere. If he was going to be in all this pain, he was damned well going to be useful _somewhere_. "If I am not needed here, I will attend to Ms. Thompson. Might I use the equipment in the next room?" It was all for surgery and physical reconstruction, as opposed to Plant-based research, and now that Vash was no longer bleeding it would hardly slow Knives' attempts-

"There is no point." Knives' eyes never strayed from the monitor above his brother, and Doc was irrationally annoyed as it reminded him of Dr. Shrew. He had _eyes, _didn't he?

But his words were more worrisome. It was true Ms. Thompson was not in sight, but Doc had been working on Vash around the clock and had explored nothing outside these two main rooms.

"Of course there is a point," he protested. "As I recall, you gave your word to help her-"

"There is no point," Knives repeated, and his cool eyes slid to the doctor's in what Knives probably thought was a look that brooked no argument.

"She saved your life. All our lives," Doc managed to keep his serene tone through willpower alone. "I will do everything in my power to save hers-"

"Tell me, old man," Knives interrupted, in a deceptively conversational tone, "what is life?"

A _child_ could see where this was going. "It doesn't matter if not all of her memories are intact-"

"Oh?" Knives gestured at the equipment surrounding his comatose brother. "We have the means here to keep Vash breathing, do we not? We have the means to keep his heart beating, his blood filtered, his respiration steady. Why are you still exerting what little effort you are able to contribute upon his body?"

Doc suppressed the urge to interrupt, forcing himself to stop and listen. Knives was telling him that Millie Thompson was essentially braindead.

And he didn't believe for a second that she was truly gone. Not completely. "Then you won't mind if I exert my minimal energies on her, will you."

The Plant gave him a long, considering look. "The spider is dead, old man. She died the moment she crossed my path."

Doc stared at him, almost blankly. Surely he wasn't hearing what he thought he was hearing. Was Millie actually being remotely controlled, dead, by Knives all this time . . .?

No. She would never have been so merciful with the crew of the ship if it had just been Knives driving. He could never impersonate that inner light of hers. Never. "She did no such thing, young man. Where is she?" Unless she had died from neglect while they had been working on Vash . . . ? Surely she was with Stryfe, Boulaise, and Carter, surely Knives hadn't simply left her on the border to die-

Knives responded to his sharp tone by drawing himself up straight – and Doc was not impressed. He had been towered over all his life, and he was too tired and in too much pain to be frightened. Knives seemed to sense it. "Do as you will."

And that was not an answer. "Where is she, Knives?"

And just like that, he was dismissed. Knives' attention was once more on his brother, though he did deign to reply. "The spider came to serve me of her own volition. Right now she is functioning as a teaching aid."

A teaching aid . . . ?

An example of some kind. To whom?

To Stryfe, Carter, and Boulaise.

Doc took a steady breath. Then another. If he had not been so exhausted, he might have been seeing red. Was this how Knives would justify a blatant violation of their agreement? By rationalizing it away as Millie Thompson was no longer Millie Thompson due to her injuries, and she would have _wanted _ it this way? "Is she enjoying her work?"

The visible corner of Knives' mouth turned downward, which surprised Doc. He would have expected a smirk. "Are you enjoying watching my brother continue to suffer?"

Doc was silent for a long moment. "If I leave this laboratory, will I be permitted back inside?" Clearly, wherever she was, she was not here, and Knives was not interested in what happened to her. He himself could not carry the tall young woman back into the lab, but Carter certainly could.

"Your palm will activate all the necessary locks," came the distracted reply. "Tell me, was Vash still emitting energy steadily before the last dose of inhibitors?"

That data existed in the records, and Doc battled a strong urge to tell Knives to go read them. "Vash was never emitting a steady energy stream except when he was installed," he said in clipped tones. "If you want to try regressing him back to a traditional Plant and installing him into a bulb, that is your choice, but I daresay it would be faster if we installed you."

Just Knives' eyes moved, attention back on him as if it had never left. Doc's only warning was a slight quiver in the Plant's lower lip as he responded.

"You are no longer required."

"I didn't realize I was still on the ship," he retorted. "We have two options here, Knives, and that is to find a way to get digestable energy into Vash, likely from you, or to trigger his Gate. The data indicates that his Gate should – _should_ – never have closed in the first place. Observations of his mental state prior to installation indicates that he was intentionally resisting installation, and we can extrapolate that he did so to delay the inevitable as much as possible. His Gate is closed because he chose to suppress it. And now he is in a coma."

Strangely, Knives remained silent through the lecture, and Doc continued. He had nothing to lose. "He knew the moment they made him produce power, you would consider your compromise null and void. He fought to what might end up being his death to prevent this very scenario. If you think you can reach him through that coma and make him believe differently, then you are right. I cannot help you."

Knives stood there a moment, his expression unreadable. Then his frown melted away, and without another word he turned his back and returned to his console. Doc watched him go, surprised at a feeling of almost . . . disappointment.

No response. The Plant was acting as if Doc had just given him an idea.

And whatever it was would take hours. If it was true Ms. Thompson had received no care since their arrival, she was most certainly his higher priority.

He stopped to get his kit, cocking an ear back as Knives issued a quiet summons, but realizing immediately that it was not for him. It crossed his mind he might be calling for his human staff to remove the troublesome spider from his sight, but Doc was more than happy to do it for him. If this was his last day on Gunsmoke, he would make sure it was of use. As he had seen the other rooms in this underground laboratory, he chose the dark, slender corridor that led only to a sliding door. There was a scanner on the door, and though he never recalled his palmprint being recorded, he placed his left hand on the cool metal surface.

The indicator flashed green, and the doors swept back silently to reveal a small metal box. He entered the lift, which curiously looked as if each of the four walls functioned as a door, and he chose the highest possible floor, none of which were marked. The lift moved quickly, and there was enough of a pressure change that his ears popped before the doors to his left parted to expose what looked very much like the bio dome on his very own ship.

Green grass, as far as the eye could see. A forest, he knew it was in infancy but some of the trees reached over sixty feet tall. It was probably just a square ile of woods, all told, and the outskirts were reduced to less impressive brush and wild growth. On his left was a white, rectangular structure, two stories tall and utterly unadorned, surrounded here and there with small sheds. A glance to his right showered another square, white concrete building, and beyond that was a somewhat traditional manor house, complete with shutters and what appeared to be a wooden French set of entry doors.

He could be certain that his companions were _not_ in there.

Doc decided to head to his left, figuring Knives would want them as far from his and Vash's residence as possible, and the doors behind him closed, showing him only an innocuous, white cement shed. No door was visible, so ingeniously had the lift been blended with the concrete.

Invisible doors to go with invisible guards.

It was a problem for another time, and Doc's gaze trailed slowly over the valley, getting the lay of the land. Hills rose up on three sides, but the valley itself didn't dip low enough to indicate it had been made volcanically. There was not enough water on the planet – probably never had been – for a glacier to have carved out this shape, it was more oblong than round-

Doc stopped, staring again at the topography. The forest and green on the surrounding hills hid a lot of the telltale signs, but that plain that stretched out on the far end, nearly as far as he could see, it had a slightly concave appearance –

This was a crater, all right. It was the crater of a SEEDS ship. One of their ships had crashed on this very spot.

Doc wondered if perhaps it was the one the twins had been raised on. It had to have been completely decommissioned, there was no longer a single scrap visible of what must have been an enormous ship.

His staring, or perhaps his appearance, had attracted some attention. A dim glow came from the forest, and Doc watched, enchanted, as a full grown Plant emerged from the trees like the nymphs of old. She was young, she had few extra appendages and used her wings for propulsion, she had eight or so pairs. Though their waving was unhurried she seemed to be generating her own updrafts effortlessly even outside a bulb, and she was definitely looking in his direction.

He glanced down the hill, looking for a path to pick down there after he had examined Ms. Thompson, and his old eyes fixed on something that had him scrambling like a man half his age.

The Plant wasn't looking at him. She was looking at her sisters.

Two of them lay in the grass at the base of the hill, beneath a large tree.

They were laying beside Millie Thompson.

-x-

He gasped, and for the first time since he could remember, it felt like he was taking a breath.

Adrenaline was coursing through him, cold and familiar, constricting his chest, and he sat bolt upright before his eyes had even opened. Light and dark, cold and hot, his senses were overwhelmed, and he focused on the only thing he could.

Air.

He was breathing.

It was cold, but cold was welcome, and he gulped it down like water, felt it flowing through his limbs, curiously pooling in his left arm.

His left arm –

Vash squeezed his eyes shut, then open again, forcing his brain to see, to understand. The sheet was white, it was clean and white and it was pooled around his waist, and he was staring at his left arm, only it couldn't be, because he _had_ one, at least part of one, almost to his elbow and that was very certainly wrong.

It wasn't mechanical.

Vash held his breath, then released it slowly, and sucked in a new one. Felt it in every way. Felt the way his lungs stretched, they weren't used to it. Felt the way his chest moved – it was wrong. Things were shifting in the wrong way. There was no weight where weight should be, there was no metal-

His heart-

There was no cage. There were no bars, no pins. Shining white scar tissue met his eyes, nearly as pale as the sheet.

This . .. this couldn't be.

The sheet was shaking.

Vash reached up his hand, his real hand. It was shaking, too. He could feel it when be pressed it against his eyes, just to make sure he _had_ them. His eyes were real, they really were and they were seeing this, and this-

_Stars. Pearls._

He remembered. He remembered clutching his hand to them, the gift from her-

And who was she?

She was his sister. A Plant. A stranger, they had never met but she reached out to him across the void because he was crying, and –

Oh god.

That void had been the network.

The network on a ship.

She was the plant on the ship.

The ship that had kidnapped him. The ship that had taken Doc's arm away from him. All the metal away from him, out of him, so that they could put him in the bulb and he'd have nothing to break it with, nothing but his Angel Arm, and they knew he couldn't use it because if he did he would be too close to her-

If he used his Angel Arm, he would be a Plant, and he would be a Plant in a bulb, and there would be no escape from it.

Vash pulled his hand away almost fearfully, forcing his eyes open. He wasn't in a bulb, though, he had his legs, he could see his lap and the sheet, and the bed that he was lying on-

His bed.

He was in his bed.

He was in his bed at the house.

At his house. His and Kn-

Vash felt his breathing falter, and he dragged his eyes up, up to the foot of the bed, up the body armor, past the chest and the chin and the grin and –

Knives was _grinning_. "Yo," he greeted, and the relief sounded sincere.

Knives was relieved.

Vash just stared at him.

The grin didn't slip. "Sorry about the drugs. There was no other way to wake you up."

Knives. Knives was standing at the foot of his bed.

His brother tossed a forgotten syringe at the waste basket by the desk. His desk. His eyes followed its graceful arc, past the wall, he knew that wall, and the window, the suns were very high in the sky, it was late afternoon, and to the waste receptacle beside his wooden writing desk, where he wrote to Millie, sometimes –

They were in Eden.

They were in _Eden._

He tried to swallow around the air that seemed to be choking him.

Was it . . . a dream . . .?

His hand brushed his chest, shaking so badly he scratched himself with his own fingernails. They were overgrown.

It didn't seem to bother the scars.

"The adrenaline will wear off in a minute or two," his brother said reassuringly. "I wasn't sure it was going to work at all."

Vash just stared at him.

The grin slipped, just a little. "Vash?"

He was shaking too hard to even speak, and Knives stepped forward, concern written on his face. "Vash, you know who I am, right? You know where you are?"

Knives. Eden.

There was only one way he would have gotten out of that bulb.

There was only one reason he would be here. He would wake up here.

Knives knew.

Vash shrank back against the headboard, it ground into his back but that didn't put off his brother for a second. Knives gave him a piercing look, not two feet from him. _Vash?_

Knives was in his head.

Vash jerked his face away from outstretched fingers, scraping up whatever mental shields he could manage. It felt weak, like he couldn't properly form a shield at all, and Knives swatted it away in irritation. _Brother, you're safe. You're home. You're safe._

Safe.

He heard himself choke out a noise, forced his voice steady. "K-Knives."

"I know." The mattress shifted as Knives sat beside him, warmth as Knives put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "I know what happened. You're safe, Vash. They can't come after us again."

He knew.

A strange sort of calm seemed to seep into his chest. He couldn't shield. He couldn't fight, not in this condition. He was naked, no weapons. Knives knew. He knew about the bulb.

It was over.

It rang in his head, deafening, over and over again, and Vash realized that he was crying.

So did Knives. "Please tell me that's the adrenaline." It was flat, and the hand his shoulder tightened. "Please tell me after everything they just did to you that you are not _crying over those worthless spiders."_

It was over.

The compromise was broken. The humans had hurt him, and he knew full well what it meant.

No wonder Knives was smiling. No wonder he was relieved.

The slap shocked him, his head bounced off the backboard and Vash tasted blood. It helped to focus his racing thoughts, and topaz was burning into his eyes as he opened them.

_Is that how you think of me, brother?_ Real anger in those eyes. Real hurt in that thought. _You almost DIED, you idiot! They almost KILLED YOU! They WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU!_

Knives had him by both shoulders, and shook him none too gently. "After all this, still with the sentimentalism! Wake up! Wake up to the reality that this was always going to happen! This is what they are! This is what they did to you!"

Knives released him, hard enough that the headboard probably drew blood, and towered there over him, radiating fury. There was something under it Vash couldn't pin down, and for the first time, he pushed himself forward.

"Knives, listen. They had only just woken. They were from Earth, they'd been cryosleep for a hundred years-"

_NO! YOU LISTEN!_

Images in his mind. A computer screen, technicians racing around a room, the only static image the sole occupant of a gurney. Bleeding out.

The screen changed. It was the control room of a bulb, and there at the bottom, a forearm kept appearing against the glass as the occupant inside pounded down on it, again and again, until there was so much blood it was all that could be seen-

People, the doctors, the technicians, celebrating when the bulb flickered.

Vash summoned his will and yanked his mental eye out of the screen. He met his brother's glare head on, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came to mind.

That was doubtless footage from the ship that had taken him.

That was him. That was him bleeding on that gurney. That was him in that bulb. He had all the memories. He'd been there. He didn't need to see it again.

The humans had done what Knives had always thought they would. They'd put a humanoid Plant in a bulb.

It was exactly what Knives had said they would. Right from the beginning.

And it hadn't mattered how much he'd begged. How much he'd explained, about his brother, about the danger, about –

Vash stomped on those thoughts, those memories before Knives could pick them up. There was footage, if Knives had been to the ship he could have seen it like he'd seen the rest of it. It didn't matter. There was nothing he could do.

Vash let his glare fade. There was no defense. There was nothing he could do. " . . . I'm sorry."

Knives' eyebrows crawled into his hairline. "You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry I made you worry."

". . . you're _sorry_?"

It wasn't just anger, and Vash raised his eyes again as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Knives was visibly livid, and he flinched when his brother moved.

But Knives did not strike him again. He threw out an arm, using his telekinesis to rip the bedroom door off its hinges. In the doorway was one of the twins, and he wasn't alone.

In his arms was a diminutive woman with dark hair.

Vash blinked, unable to believe his eyes, as Meryl Stryfe was tossed unceremoniously into the room. Her arms were bound behind her, and cloth had been stuffed into her mouth. Her silver eyes were shining with tears and terror.

Meryl.

Meryl was here.

Meryl was in Eden.

Vash was out of bed before he even knew if he could walk, but he could. His legs were fine, he had Meryl in his arm before the man – he wasn't sure if it was Librett or Wright – could do anything else to her. She was clothed, so she was safe from the servant's bare arms, and Vash held her tight against him, not sure which of them was shaking harder.

There was only one reason Meryl would be here.

Knives' voice was full of malice. "The one who NEEDS TO BE SORRY IS THE SPIDER!"

"Please, Knives." He tried to keep it steady, he tried to hold back the tears. Tears would just piss his brother off more. "Please don't do this."

"I _saved your life_," Knives ground, and Meryl flinched into him at the malice in his brother's voice. "Who do you think told them where you were, Vash? Who do you think gave them a list of all your favorite bars, all your favorite humans?"

Meryl was struggling to speak, but he only had one arm, and he used it to hold her tight, putting his body between her and Knives. There was no way he could shield her both from Knives and from the other man. He couldn't protect her like this.

"Are you listening to me? That thing in your arms tried to kill you!"

That was not true. Meryl was shaking her head, but it was hard to tell if she was trying to tell him something or she was just trying to get the gag off. He didn't dare release her.

"Even if that's true, she didn't do it on purpose!" God, how was he going to explain this? They must have gotten it from her reports, the ones she had sent to Bernardelli, she'd never intended them to get that information, certainly not if she knew what it would be used for. Vash tried to give her a reassuring look, but Meryl was having none of it. She looked terrified.

He wondered, suddenly, what they must have done to her to reduce her to this. What she had already suffered while he had slept off the drugs from the bulb.

"I'm sorry." He could think of nothing more to say. With – it had to be Wright, if Meryl was this scared – in the doorway, and Knives between him and the window, there was no place left to go. She wasn't wearing her cape, they'd stripped her of her derringers and her hands were tied anyway.

There was no way out. She was in Eden. There was no way Knives would let her go.

"I'm so sorry." It was only a whisper.

"YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE SORRY FOR!" A white-hot knife buried itself into the wall just over Meryl's head, and she squeaked and ducked deeper into his hold. Vash twisted to give her more cover, glaring over his shoulder.

"Knives, please! Please don't do this!"

"What?" His tone was vicious. "You want to do it yourself? Is this what your word is worth, Vash? Are you going to choose them over me _again_?"

The words burned into his mind, accompanied by a vision of Knives lying in a bed, helpless, in pain. Terrified, just like the woman in his arm.

He'd truly believed his words to Knives that day. It wasn't a lie. He'd believed it would work. It had to work.

"Fine." The word was bitten off. "If you want to stop me, _brother_, then go ahead and do it."

Another knife, this one brushed his shoulder as it went over, and Vash watched a lock of hair spring from her head as if in slow motion. He watched as her eyes saw it, followed it for so long, widening far too slowly as she realized what it meant, how they painstakingly moved in the socket from his chest to his neck, to his jaw, to his eyes-

He could move fast. So much faster than she could. So much faster than Wright.

And so could Knives.

There was only one way to save her.

"Go ahead, Vash," Knives snarled, and the hurt was so obvious, it was right there atop everything. "Go ahead and _shoot me again._"

July. The office. The desert, the cross. He had no gun, this time. Wright wasn't Nicholas there to save him. Just his arm.

He didn't even need to use it. All he had to do was manifest, and at least she'd have physical cover.

Until Knives shot off this arm, as well.

Vash pressed his body against her, pinning her to the wall, and tucked his chin over her head. He was screaming, he could hear his voice like it wasn't even his own, begging Knives to stop. She was slight, he could protect her with his body, at least for a little while –

Until Knives tired of using him as target practice.

_I can save them. I can save all of them._

_There is always a way._

A finger grazed his left ribs, and Meryl stiffened in his arms with a cry.

"Well, Vash? What's your answer?"

Another finger past his thigh, and she screamed again. The gag did nothing to muffle her heartbeat, racing against his chest.

_What do I do, Rem? What do I do?_

It was manifest the arm, or she would die.

But there was no way out. He had given his word. Knives had given his word and he had kept it. How could he not do the same?

It was the humans or Knives. If he manifested that arm, protected her, even flew out of Eden with her –

The Gung-Ho Guns. Legato. Knives wouldn't stop.

Knives would never stop.

Even if he died here protecting her, Knives would never stop.

"I'm sorry." He said it, over and over again, flinching when Knives lost his patience, when the wall they were cowering against exploded, splinters and worse in his skin, in hers. Her weight growing heavy. No more shaking.

But the screaming didn't stop.

-x-

Knives leaned away, taking a deep, slow breath, and he let the mental construct disintegrate. His brother's mind slipped, still screaming, back into intangible space. A glance at the monitors to his right showed him steady levels.

Steady in their nonexistence.

Vash had not manifested. Hadn't even tried. His Gate was still closed.

Knives sat there for a long moment, hands still on Vash's face, before he let them fall away. There was no response from Vash, mental or otherwise.

Knives studied his brother, then stood abruptly and headed directly for the cells.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: I really contemplated leaving that last little bit off, but you guys are pretty perceptive and I'm sure you would have had your doubts. Considering I can't promise when the next chapter will be out, I figured that would be mean. I also very nearly changed this fic's rating with one innocent little typo. (Vash nearly asked Knives to top instead of stop. =) So I apologize for any typos that were not caught, as this certainly was not beta'ed. And thank you, everyone that dropped me a comment on the last chapter! You guys really are still out there! Yay!


	26. Chapter 26

**EDIT**: You know, guys, I'm not surprised I didn't see a review. The first version of this chapter was ham-fisted and clusy. I was willing to sacrifice quality for speed, in part due to my guilt at having dropped the fic, and in part due to my impatience to get it finished.

Truth is, I'm not going to be happy with it if I write crap, no matter how fast I write it. I've edited the second half to be more in the same style as it was initially, and I, at least, am a LOT happier with the end of this chapter. I hope you will be too! Those that missed the first posting – trust me, this is better.

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

He moved so quietly, it was always a surprise.

Aching eyes followed the shadow, thin and tall and grotesque as it moved towards her. Or away. She couldn't tell, not with the way the house reflected light. Carter was pacing between the rooms, always moving, but not always by her door. Not always in line of sight. This shadow rose, straightening and ducking as it met the line of the ceiling, and then was absorbed away altogether into the light concrete.

Meryl rubbed her wrist absently and specifically did _not _sigh, because if she sighed, then Elizabitch would accuse her of blaming her _again_, and the defensiveness was getting on her very final last nerve.

At this point she was pretty sure she'd take Terry Asoaurd as a roommate over the two she had.

_Four_, her brain corrected, and Meryl Stryfe squeezed shut grainy eyes and very carefully did _not_ sigh.

She was fairly sure her sense of time was off, but it felt like they'd been in these rooms for at least three years. It had probably been less than two days, because she didn't remember more than two meals and she wasn't particularly hungry. She was sweaty, but not because the room was hot – well, okay, it was hot, but she wasn't doing much to make it less hot. She still had on the long sleeve uniform jacket to avoid exposing any skin, and she was leaning in the corner of one of the rooms with Elizabitch leaning into the same corner, on her right.

At least that way their backs were covered. Not that that had worked, she was sure. The marks had been steadily appearing on Carter and he hadn't stopped walking the building since they'd first woken.

At least, not that any of them remembered.

And that was really the problem when you were being held hostage in a psychopath's manor, being drugged by invisible people, now wasn't it.

This time Meryl took a deep breath and held it, in the hopes that would be enough to make the urge to sigh go away.

Huh. Didn't have an urge to yawn, either. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd burped.

And there's an important detail, she snapped at herself, envisioning the determinedly cheerful Meryl giving her best professional smile into the mirror. Meryl wanted to break that mirror, rip off that Bernardelli uniform and strangle herself with it. Her whole entire life was going to be forever engulfed by the massive shadow of the worst decision in the history of Gunsmoke.

If, by the end of this, they even remembered making it.

Elizabitch had only just shut up about her most recent epiphany, that their memory was being affected by the drugs. On and on, it must have been an engineer thing. Or maybe she just liked to hear herself talk. Aaron was still one of her slaves, and even he barely grunted acknowledgement anymore. He had his uniform on as tightly as theirs, no way to know how many more of those handprints had appeared.

Or where.

But for all the rationalization-as-replacement-for-fear that the tiresome woman behind her fed them, Meryl couldn't help but think she was right. It was possible that Aaron Carter could make his rounds for a couple days with no sleep. But there was no way for three plates of food to just appear on the floor of an empty room. Dirty dishes didn't simply disappear into thin air. It wasn't like they just wouldn't notice someone walking down the hall to replace the bar of soap in the crappy restroom.

And that last detail bothered her more than she could possibly say.

When she could dredge up a small amount of patience – hadn't happened for a while now – Meryl could imagine herself agreeing with Elizabitch. They were being intentionally frightened. Literally being kept occupied with fear. No real talk of a plan – they could not manage it if they were never alone, and they could never be sure that they were or were not. With all the surveillance on the ship, it wasn't easy but at least it was _possible_ to communicate. You knew the rules. If there was a camera in the room, speak in code. If there was a soldier nearby, engage them in conversation.

But there were no rules here. They might have been alone for the last two hours. Maybe the punishment for talking was getting drugged, which was why she couldn't recall any serious attempts at conversation. Maybe there were drugs in the food, but if they refused it they would no longer be offered any more. Maybe they were all unconscious and this was some terrible dream.

Maybe she was lying against Millie, but couldn't see her through the hallucinations. Maybe Doc was the shadow that kept crawling across the wall in the hallway.

If the point was to keep them too occupied to figure out what to do, the answer was to ignore it, right?

Hadn't they started out doing that?

Meryl shook her head at little, shocked at her own lack of ability to remember something that simple. Adrenaline spiked, weakly beneath her breastbone, and she realized that if they didn't figure out a way, and soon, they literally would no longer be able to.

They'd kill each other first.

Was that what Knives was hoping?

_This is ridiculous_.

But something stilled her tongue. If she said it, then what? Would the new improved Gung Ho Guns appear and drug away her pitiful attempt at defiance? Or worse? Why couldn't these thoughts stop chasing their tails around her brain?

_Because you're Meryl Stryfe, you idiot,_ Terry's words echoed in her mind. _You don't sit quietly. You act on what you believe in._

If she'd already done it and couldn't remember, after all, it couldn't have been fatal. Maybe she'd get lucky this time.

Breathe.

It came out like a sigh, and she felt Elizabeth stiffen behind her. "If we don't figure a way out of here now, we never will," Meryl said clearly, before anything could interrupt her sudden courage. "I've had enough."

And she leaned forward, rolling onto her knees in order to take her feet dramatically - and remembered why she shouldn't.

If the sudden grimace on her face minimized the impact of her words, Elizabeth didn't mention. Her cheeks were as glassy as her eyes, wet with tears, and she leaned a little harder into the wall now that her support was gone.

Meryl stopped, shocked, and the engineer flashed her a painful-looking smile.

"I keep thinking about him," was all she said.

The shadow that approached them was not as tall as the last one, and Meryl rubbed her cracked cheekbone with the outside of her thumb and waited for Carter to join them. He couldn't have missed her speaking, it was quiet as a church, and when he finally came around the corner, no one could have failed to catch her sudden inhale.

He managed another couple plodding steps before stumbling through the doorway, and the rash beneath his jaw was prominent on his pale skin. Elizabeth was closest, still on the floor, and she barely had time to brace herself and reach up before he crashed heavily into her lap and the floor. She gave a small cry, her wrist, but she hadn't the slightest interest in the bandaging, or her new accessory. Something else had her undivided attention.

And that something else was quite visible.

Meryl remembered that bodysuit. He'd made a few changes, certainly, probably a nod to comfort, her suddenly detached mind noted. Certainly the bulletholes were missing.

"Knives," Elizabeth breathed.

He strode into the room without a glance at the unconscious Carter, completely ignoring Elizabeth, and Meryl felt herself hit the wall behind her before she realized she'd been backpedaling. It didn't slow him in the least, every stride he took was worth two of hers, and he picked her up – effortlessly – by the collar of her uniform coat, so that they were at eye level.

Only he didn't touch her. His hands were at his sides. She was sure of it, not that she could look down around the fabric crushing her throat, but because she could see the tops of his shoulders. She was being pinned to the wall by nothing at all.

Legato could do that. Could force people to move. Could move things without touching them.

He stared at her coldly, close enough for her to see that his eyelashes were slightly shorter than Vash's, and he said nothing at all.

She couldn't even hear her own breathing over her pulse, wouldn't have heard him even if he had shouted. Her feet were dangling in air, and she grasped at the collar of the jacket in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure. Why? Why now? What on Gunsmoke had she said that would have caused-

Caused-

_I've had enough._

She'd said she'd had enough.

His upper lip curled in disgust, and then he did raise a hand. He held it directly in front of her, she watched the muscles and bone ripple beneath his skin, watched as a tendon seemed to elongate up the back of his hand, parting the skin bloodlessly between two of his fingers to expose the white, perfectly smooth surface of it-

And then he closed his hand, and she saw what it was. It was a knife.

He had just created a knife out of nothing at all. Like Vash's feathers.

Like Vash's arm.

Meryl blinked repeatedly, knowing the dingy shadows on the walls and on his face weren't shadows at all, knowing that she was panicking, and pressed as far from him as she could get as he allowed the knife to fall, tip first, towards her left eye. There was nothing in his face, it was pitiless and devoid of anything resembling his brother.

"W-wait," she heard herself stammer, but she couldn't think of a single reason why. "Wait-"

"For what?" His voice was more resonant than she remembered, it rang in her ears and smothered her pulse. "Godot?"

She was far too terrified to think of it as a joke, though his lips turned up cruelly. "If it's my dear brother we're waiting for, we are indeed waiting in vain."

She stared at him, uncomprehendingly, and his head tilted just slightly to the left. "You believed he would rescue you, did you not?" The knife moved, sinuously, now to her right eye, and she couldn't help but follow it with a barely contained whimper. "That he would save you?" It was almost thoughtful. "After all he has done to you, you still hold the ideal true."

There was something there, he was asking her for something, but Meryl could not bring herself to look away from the knife, just a scant inch away.

He's going to use it.

But . . . but how . . . ? Why . . . ?

"Vash . . . is . . .?" Elizabeth's voice was far away, and the cruel smirk did not leave Knives' mouth as he answered her unfinished question.

"Disappointed." Meryl clung helplessly to her collar, trying not to gasp so loudly lest it anger the psychopath in front of her, and Knives' eyes narrowed, just slightly. "He forbade you from seeking him out, spider." His eyes traced her eyebrows, then her hairline, the line of her cheek and jaw, before locking gazes with her once again. "It was not my bidding, but his preference."

She just stared at him, too shocked to respond. That wasn't true, Millie had said she could read the letters-

Millie had said-

"W-what have you done to Millie?"

In answer, the knife rapped sharply against her cracked cheekbone.

Meryl did whimper, then, more out of surprise than pain, though it blossomed through her terror quickly enough. The knife might have cut her, she wasn't sure, but she could still see, and his eyes were still on her. Watching her. Again, the feeling that he wanted something nagged at her, but she couldn't for the life of her think what it would be. An apology? For what, sparing his life? For speaking? For daring to worry about her friend?

Screw you, she thought at him, as loudly as she could, and hoped he could see it on her face. If these were her last moments, she was _not_ going to apologize for them. Millie deserved better than that.

-x-

It was clear to him, now, and Knives let her fall.

Her eyes were not the silver they were in Vash's mind. They were a dull blue, almost a grey in this light. He'd gotten her underlying facial structure wrong as well. It was more like Rem's, though her eyes had been a soft brown-

He glared at her, now piled in a pitifully small lump in her military garb, and he let the knife fall as well, guiding it slightly so that it pinned her wrist to the concrete floor by her sleeve. She flinched but the knife held, and it was double-edged, so it would keep her occupied for a time. He had no doubt Wright would be sure to relieve her of it in due course.

Another addition to his collection for a job well done.

It was his mistake. He'd never really studied the human at his feet, but there was no doubt Vash had. Even somewhat impaired, and even fully immersed in the mental construct, Vash had somehow known that it wasn't real. That the human in his arms was not really her.

That there was no need to manifest.

If he could prevent Vash from remembering the first attempt, he was fairly certain he could convince him now. Those cloudy eyes were staring back up at him, confusion and fear prominent in the dark pupils, but she had the audacity to repeat herself.

"Where's Millie? What have you done to her!"

A demand. He curbed the urge to relieve her of her offensive jaw, though even her dulled human instincts realized she had misspoken, and she took a breath in anticipation of pain.

That he would not cause. If these humans held so dear to their 'compromise,' it would remain a useful tool. "Nothing more than I have done for you." That she would be concerned more for the other woman than for herself . . . that was unexpected. He had assumed she would whimper and cower, and he wasn't incorrect, but she had been quieter than he'd anticipated.

Of course, she was in the twins' tender care, and he needed to take that into account when he evaluated her fear responses.

She hesitated, he heard the question in her mind before she spoke. Her thoughts were far more muffled than the taller spider's, he had to concentrate to hear it and she wasn't worth the effort. "You gave us your word you'd help her-" The spider cut herself off abruptly and bit her lip.

And he sensed her doubt. It made him smile. "Indeed." And he was. Right now he was helping her teach his sisters about the finer points of human frailty, and soon about death. A quick probing thought came back with a variety of responses, so they were still curious, and the impression of age and rotten -

So the old man had found her. Librett had thought the tree was particularly poetic. Keeping her out of the suns would extend her life, that was certain, as certain as her impending death. There was nothing the old man could do about it but delay the inevitable.

The same thing he was doing for Vash.

Knives let his expression grow dark at the thought. Much as it irritated him to admit it, the old human was correct. Vash's demise was as inevitable as the taller spider's, and the two choices laid out were indeed the only he too could fathom. If he could not find a way to force Vash's cells to accept a surrogate energy source, the only way to save him was to force him to manifest.

But he could, now. Vash still cared for the garbage at his feet. Still saw _her_, and now that he had studied her, there were some resemblances.

And why was he using this spider when he could just as easily replicate Rem? Use the real thing, as it were?

It occurred to him, belatedly, that he had not offered any expansion on his agreement. "You are free to assist her, if you wish." Knives then turned his back on the human at his feet, studying the engineer to give the spider a chance to try to use the knife he'd all but handed her. She was also on the floor, but then again, she knew her place. The spare was deeply unconscious and no threat.

The engineer averted her eyes, but still spoke. "It's not like you, Knives, to test her without a reason." Perceptive. A bit softer, she continued. "I'm glad Vash is still alive. Is he improving?"

Unspoken was, of course, the assumption that meant that their missing companions were alive, as well.

"I see you've been enjoying the company of the twins." Wright was in the other room, laying out a meal, but there was no reason to summon him. His handiwork was present on the skin of her wrist and the trembling of her frame.

Elizabeth dared to raise her eyes and look at him, though. "There are two of them, then?"

Obviously. "Librett and Wright. Consider them your . . . entertainment directors."

She missed the joke, staring at him blankly, and he graced her with a small smile.

"They direct, and you entertain." In fact, given the state of the piece of meat in her lap, they were enjoying themselves quite a bit. It was fortunate the old man had been rational enough to focus on his brother. The threat of Librett and Wright getting carried away with his companions would keep him in line, and they in turn would maintain control here. Still, he needed to make it clear the old man was off limits. As excitable as they were, they were likely to kill him too soon. It was only a matter of time until he realized the extent of their tampering, anyway, and took measures to counter it.

There was nothing more to be gained by remaining, the spider had not touched the knife pinning her arm, and Knives activated the door. Elizabeth's little inhale was well controlled, considering; the twins really had discomforted her. She was not a complete waste of flesh, he reflected, and paused in the doorway, turning back to the trio of humans.

"You will remain within half an ile of this structure." Exactly. The twins would see to it. "If you attempt interaction with any of my sisters, your life is forfeit."

_Cling to your compromise, spiders. Cling to it like the web it is._

-x-

He glared the darkened hallway and the lift doors hissed, as if in warning. He ignored them. The time for warnings was over. In fact, he didn't even let Knives come fully into the lab before he spoke. "It appears our agreement has been nullified. That's far enough."

Knives didn't slow, probably intent on ignoring him until he actually bothered to look. To see. His momentum gradually arrested, but there was no hint of hesitance. It was simply a matter of velocity plus mass over distance. Like a sand steamer docking.

Only this was the last port this sand steamer was ever going to call.

"You left her to die." No need to mince words. He didn't have the time. "We have been here for days, and you manipulated those terrible young men into doing the same to us. I never would have focused on Vash to the point of forgetting about her." Never would he have simply put the thought of her to the side for so long. He did not have the telltale rashes that Millie Thompson bore, but there could be no doubt that he had been influenced.

That went far outside the rules laid down by a simple sedation.

The Plant made a swift gesture, it could have been a fatal one but he had not manifested so much as a whisper of telekinesis, let alone a weapon. "So this is a result of your guilt?" That infuriating smirk. "Misplaced, don't you think?"

Doc drew himself up straight, careful to give nothing away. There was quite a bit of painkiller in his system, the battle had been won by his physical needs, rather than his intellectual, but fortunately he only needed the most primitive part of his brain for this. Overthinking things would just give Knives an edge.

"On the contrary, I am simply keeping a promise. I realize that might be the cause of your confusion. You see," he continued, assuming his best lecturing tone, "it's what beings do when they actually mean what they say, and carry it through."

Knives bared his teeth, but he didn't take another step. It was probable he had not yet discerned what was in the lines. "If you've redefined saving my brother as killing him, then what I have done with the garbage outside should be fully acceptable to you."

Doc fingered the key, dragging his short fingernail over the impression in the polymer, reassuring himself tactilely that it was indeed the right one. It would be foolish to make such an easy mistake, and without knowing how he was being influenced, well, an old fool couldn't be too careful. Could he truly hit that key before Knives stopped him? Could he move faster than a humanoid Plant?

"I made a promise to Vash. Many years ago." More than he cared to remember. Before so many of the scars that were now white shadows had been carved onto that body. "I promised him that if the time came, that he was a threat to the humans, that I would stop him."

It was one of the most idiotic promises he had ever made.

The tall Plant, the true image of what Vash might have been, was unreadable. He didn't ask the expected question. Doc stroked the key again. The key that would send the brightly colored fluids into the comatose Vash. He regretted that Vash did not have a say in the way he was being used, first by Knives, then by Shrew, and yet again by a friend. By someone he trusted. Doc had been sure to correct Dr. Shrew's oversights. After all, even an old man had been able to move faster than the mechanical pump she'd utilized. He'd already put the drugs in the lines, the second he released the vacuum they'd be in Vash's blood. In fact, they were probably already seeping slowly into Vash anyway, drawn in by his admittedly low blood pressure.

Vash was no more than a pawn in all of this, and in truth, he had never been anything else.

"You of course will be wondering how I see him as the larger threat."

"Not at all." Knives' tone was eerily dry. "Like the rest of your kind, you are consumed by your fear."

Very like Knives to dismiss his own influence. "Fear you intentionally caused Miss Thompson. Fear you are undoubtedly causing my charges." He let his voice rise a little in pitch. The time for serenity was past, for better or for worse. "Your entire basis of existence is do unto others before they do unto you. There is no room for love in an existence like that, Knives. No room for compassion, or trust. Not even for your own flesh."

Knives' eyebrows rose a fraction at the implication. Clearly that was not where he expected the conversation to go. "Excuse me?"

"You are not capable of love." He said it slowly, the same tone he used to try to communicate with Millie Thompson less than an hour ago. He got more response from Knives. "You do not love your brother. You seek to control him. You seek to consume him. You don't want companionship, you want domination. I will not leave Vash's soul to be destroyed by the likes of you."

"You do not decide that, old man." _There_ was a bit of the deadliness he was looking for.

"He is defenseless!" He did not dare take his finger from the key. "You can manipulate him as easily as you have us, and you will. You never intended to entertain his solution to the problem. I daresay analysis of the data from the ship will show it was you, not Miss Stryfe, that tipped off the New Kennedy in the first place-"

The answer to his question, whether he could move faster than a Plant - it was no.

Knives was just suddenly _there_. His hair was close-cropped so it was not disturbed, there was hardly any displacement of air, and his left hand was around the top of Doc's right arm before he even registered the danger. He expected to be thrown – hell, he expected to simply be _dead_ – but the Plant did neither, instead exerting just a few ounces of pressure.

And really, it was like Knives not to waste effort. He seemed to have a tendency towards efficiency.

Doc slipped to the floor without knowing whether he actually hit the key or not, and Knives let him. Once there, it didn't seem to Doc that there was much reason not to stay put, so he did, blinking away the pain that threatened to crowd out the view of Knives' boot.

"You think that I will force Vash to kill the humans he has spent over a hundred years protecting?" Still very conversational. No concern whatsoever, so either the key had not depressed, or Knives was calling his bluff. "That is your mistake, old man. Vash will do that without any help from me."

"L-liar." The painkillers were taking the edge off quickly, and Doc rolled laboriously onto his back, so he could catch Knives' eye. "You are so . . . m-much less than Vash."

A raised eyebrow. "Is that your professional opinion, doctor?" It was clearly not meant as a term of respect, but it appeared the Plant still had some tenuous hold of his temper.

And that was definitely not part of the plan.

"You are . . . lower than those you call human garbage." He tried to make every word count. "^You have become your own deepest fear."

Knives' face became larger in his field of vision, and Doc maintained the glare as best he could around what felt very much like a sudden drop in his blood pressure. Perhaps he had been stabbed after all . . .? Had simply not felt the final blow?

"Is this the best you can do, old man?"

Doc could think of nothing worse to say than calling Knives lower than spiders, and the Plant grew closer still. "You threaten my brother, in the same way as the others. You insult me. Clearly you ache for a quick death. And why? Your end is imminent. Your arm continues to rot . . ." It trailed off after a moment, and even Doc could not miss the slight flick of his eyes to the right – it was the same in humans, when a memory was accessed, a piece of the puzzle located. It only took him a few seconds more to put it together.

The vid feed missing from the record. The reason Knives had asked him about Vash's energy output. The energy spike they recorded – Knives had only now just realized it had resulted in the burn to his arm. A Plant burn.

Knives had just realized it was Vash that took his arm – the injury that would ultimately take his life.

The humanoid Plant ripped the bandaging away from what remained of Doc's right arm in a single motion, and for an unexpectedly long span of time, it felt like nothing more than a rolled up sleeve being unwound, a release of pressure and tingle of circulation.

Then his nerves were finally able to convey the information they were receiving.

Doc could do nothing more than lay there and gasp. The screams of an old man lacked any real volume, his throat was too tight with infection, he choked on his own voice. Still, the chemicals in his blood soothed the worst, and his vision cleared enough to see Knives impassively watching the maggots that had been dislodged by the bandaging wriggling haplessly on the cement, seeking the food source they had been so cruelly ripped from.

The maggots he had painstakingly harvested from the carcass those vultures had been circling, when they'd stopped just three nights ago, and made the decision to spare Knives. He had chased Meryl away with the explanation of intestinal issues, but Aaron Carter had followed him around the rocks.

He smiled at the young man, who looked neither shocked nor disgusted to see him encouraging the wriggling grains of rice to enter an open sore on white, circulation-starved skin. He could hardly blame the mercenary for his lack of reaction, after all – his arm didn't even look like a proper arm so much as a thick rubber glove.

"It's old Earth medicine," he explained calmly. "Maggots eat only ruined flesh, and leave the healthy to continue thriving. The damage is not as bad as it looks."

They both had known he was lying.

Doc roused himself from the surprisingly crisp memory. focused on Knives, concentrating only on the next breath. He was unsurprised when the Plant moved, to crush the insects squirming at his feet.

"You do not wish Vash to wake to your death at his hand." It was hard to tell what Knives thought about that. "You would choose suicide over adding to his foolish, misplaced sense of guilt." Blue eyes cut to his, and the ceiling was moving behind Knives' head, though Doc's inner ear was certain they were remaining stationary.

"I told you, old man. That's not your decision."

-x-

**Author's Notes**: As I said above, sorry, guys. I let you down. It was true, though, what I said before. All these fun little details would probably be better if two years hadn't gone by between the last time I thought about them and now. First time I've dropped a story (and an idea) for this span of time, and it is taking its toll on quality and level of detail. You expect better, and I need to deliver it, both for you AND for me. This fic has the capacity to be an awesome conclusion to a great idea, and I need to get it there, otherwise I would have been better off leaving it where it was. Thanks for keeping me honest!


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

She didn't dare move, not until the door slipped silently back into place. The joint was seamless, the door seemed to expand slightly when it slid into the closed position, so that there wasn't even a line in the irregular but smooth cement.

The door had been there the entire time. There could be one in every room that had an outside wall.

That was how their invisible caretakers were moving about so freely.

Twins, he'd said. Wright and Librett, if memory served. Entertainment directors. Which made them the actors.

Stryfe was still trying to pull herself together, and Elizabeth left her alone, focusing instead on the man in her lap. Aaron was deeply unconscious, it looked as though someone had grabbed him around the throat. That was very forward, more aggressive than they'd been in the past. Right up to him, right in line of sight.

And he still hadn't managed to stop them.

She juggled him awkwardly – he was damned heavy as dead weight – and gritted her teeth when her wrist twinged in protest. Still, she was in pants, at least, and managed to wriggle her way out from under him, being careful of his head. He'd collapsed just about face first into her, and rolling him onto his back was very much like shoving ductwork into a bulb's u-bend. If he hadn't been a person, she would have used her feet.

But he_ was_ a person.

He was her _only_ person. The only one she had left here, if what Knives said about Vash was true.

_Not that there's any reason to believe him_. The fear clutching at her throat was false, it was drugs or hormones and it was not her own. Vash was clearly not dead, Knives would never have spared Meryl. Would never have played with her. He was observing her behavior, that was certain, but why . . .? It wasn't like she was going to suddenly pull a grenade launcher out of her pocket and fight back. There was no reason to fear her responses, she was no threat.

Unless it had something to do with Vash . . .?

Elizabeth arranged Aaron's arms into a more natural looking position, and hesitated before smoothing back his hair. He looked terrible. She hadn't really seen him in seemingly forever, really hadn't been looking, but her own real adrenaline was combating whatever it was being done to them, and she could see the dark circles, the deep lines around his eyes and mouth.

_Pain_, she realized abruptly. _He's in pain._

"Why . . . ?"

Elizabeth didn't bother to look up, intent on the front of his jacket. Had they injured him? Had he been hiding a previous injury from them? "Knives was testing you, Meryl. He wanted to see what you'd do." Carter did not move a muscle as she opened up his jacket, and she ran her hands down his sides, testing his ribs. They seemed intact. She didn't feel any significant swelling anywhere along his abdomen.

"Is he okay?"

She rolled his undershirt up, expecting to see the handprints on his chest. The ones on her wrist had only faded a little, so it would stand to reason that the original rashes would still be there -

It was just, they didn't stop there. They were present down his belly, down his sides, even crossing the waistline of his trousers. Not always a full handprint, sometimes just a line, like one finger, or –

Elizabeth very, very carefully did not panic. She rolled his shirt down and began the process of fastening his jacket. "He's fine." It was hardly more than a whisper, and she summoned the haughtiest tone she could. "Were you planning on sitting there gaping like a thomas calf all day, or are you going to help me?"

Meryl made a strangled sound, but finally started getting to work on the knife that somehow miraculously hadn't removed her hand at the wrist. And Elizabeth forced herself to look at her. To really _look_.

Meryl Stryfe. Insurance saleswoman. One of Vash's people, without doubt, even after all this time. Especially forbidden from coming to Eden, if Knives was to be believed. The diminutive woman had slipped her right hand into her sleeve and was using it to protect her fingers as she worked the double-sided blade back and forth. It was buried deep in the cement floor, and it couldn't weigh very much so it had to be ridiculously sharp and thin.

It didn't help that Meryl was shaking too hard to really grasp anything. Or that she was still panting, on the cusp of hyperventilating as it all sank in. With these chemicals on top of all of it –

Actors indeed.

Elizabeth glanced back towards the main door with a half-formed thought of getting the other woman a sip of water, and one of their 'entertainment directors' returned her gaze levelly.

The engineer couldn't help her sudden, violent flinch backwards, she fell back directly onto her fractured wrist and the joint gave, sending her falling further onto her elbows. He was only a few feet away, but he did not reach out. And he could have; his arms were unnaturally long, with graceful fingers reaching nearly to his knees, and they were covered with what looked like a fine white down. All of his exposed skin was covered with it – and nearly all of his skin _was_ exposed – and she watched it dance as the air from her sharp exhale reached him.

He couldn't have been more than five feet tall. His eyes were a faded red, and they watched her without emotion. He didn't even blink.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, pushing back so she could sit up and get more distance. In reply, he took a step towards her. Her next scoot brought her to the corner, there was nowhere to go, and still he watched her, unblinking. Then he took another step.

Into the room.

His eyes slid from her, and only then did it feel like she could breathe. He was wearing cloth, what looked a bit like a miniskirt woven from the same down that covered his skin, and she could see that his legs were also long, and that his torso seemed unusually short for his height. There was not the slightest sound as he moved; the air slid over the white filaments absolutely silently, like the wings of an owl. And as he moved, it was just like Carter said.

The light seemed to move around him. Once she lost sight of his eyes, he blended into the white world around them.

But not flawlessly. She could still see him. Aaron would have seen him coming.

_There's no shadow_, she realized suddenly. Though she could barely make him out, striding unhurriedly towards Meryl, there was no shadow at all, not even when his feet were a mere millimeter from the surface of the floor.

Meryl.

The other woman had noticed, and done exactly the opposite thing she had – Meryl seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. She still had her right hand wrapped around the knife blade, it was hard to tell if she was shaking from fear or exertion, and inexorably, the strange man continued forward.

Elizabeth swallowed again. "So are you Wright, or Librett?"

Meryl was trapped. And she had a weapon. Could they use the knife to fend off this . . . this person, or would that be a violation of their agreement?

Maybe that was why Knives left it.

The strange man did not turn at her voice, though he came to a stop just in front of Meryl, whose hand slipped from the blade as she leaned back as far as she could. She could have wriggled out of the jacket, it looked like she'd thought of that because it was unbuttoned and it exposed more of her skin –

And the man reached elongated fingers forward – and grasped the blade. It released from the cement effortlessly, he had leaned down and back up all in one smooth movement, and he studied the knife for a moment before he tucked it into the down on his left forearm.

Then he lowered the arm, but the blade did not fall free.

He didn't speak; without pause he continued towards the outside wall that they now knew concealed a door, and then he walked through the cement and was gone.

Elizabeth blinked.

That . . . that was impossible . . .

. .. that _was_ impossible. No one could walk through a solid wall.

He was just, quite simply, no longer visible. He was still right there in the room with them, and there was not even the slightest outline of him, even though she knew exactly where to look.

Unless he'd already moved.

Meryl made a soft choking sound, withdrawing her unpinned hand to her chest and clutching her jacket closed. For a moment, they simply stared at the spot where he had last been visible, and then Elizabeth forced herself shakily to her feet.

This door, at least, was off limits. And she was _not_ going to leave Aaron alone in the room with . . . with that.

"Meryl." Her voice sounded tight to her ears. "Help me move him."

The other woman drew her legs closer to her chest but was unable to push herself to her feet without the use of her hands, which were frantically trying to mash button into slit. She wasn't having a lot of luck but it didn't matter how wrong the order was, so long as the jacket was closed. So long as the amount of skin exposed was minimal. Whatever the drugs were, it had to be on those tiny tubules, they looked like tiny pearled feather shafts. They weren't long enough or hard enough to penetrate fabric.

"Meryl."

She put her shaking hands on the wall and managed to get to her feet, edging around the room. When she was close enough to be of help, Elizabeth picked up one of Aaron's arms. "Take the other. We'll drag him."

He was truly dead weight. She had dragged unconscious bodies before; she'd knocked out her instructors on more than one occasion as a teenager, but none were as rag-dolled as Carter. It felt like one good jerk was going to pull his arm out of socket entirely, and the uniform slid with a human-like hiss on the concrete floors as they half fell, half sprinted out of the room into the hall.

"Kitchen." It was the place their meals were delivered, each one a white plate containing mostly white pastes, and it had windows on two walls. It would have a door, hopefully a door they could quickly find and utilize.

"We need to get out of this building." Stryfe just nodded. Get someplace where everything wasn't so damn white. Where it might be easier to see these guys.

It seemed Meryl's instict was right. Knives had begun collecting a new crew of mutated humans. A new set of Gung Ho Guns. Which meant that handprints and fear were the least of what these men could do. And now that one of them had revealed themselves, now that one of them had walked right up to Aaron and grabbed him –

They were getting more daring. It was time to respond.

The kitchen was located diagonally from the room they had left, and traversing the hallway backwards was terrifying. Every step, it felt like something soft brushed against the side of her jaw, and Elizabeth rubbed it anxiously against the stiff fabric of the uniform collar. It was only a few more steps to the other room –

And a glance showed that three plates had been set out for them, on the floor of the room, in a neat triangle. Just like before. Some type of colorless, brewed liquid. A blob of white vegetable paste. And a perfect circle of mashed ivory protein.

She didn't even try to pull Aaron around them, he was too limp and unless she had had his wrist in her hands she wouldn't have known he was even still alive. It didn't look like he was breathing at all. "We've got to get him to Doc," she heard herself announce, calmly, as if Carter was nothing more than a valve needing replacement on the fourth conduit on the left. She accidentally knocked over one of the white ceramic cups with a clatter that made them both flinch, and the beverage that had tasted like tea when she had dared to try some ran across the perfectly level floor. "Meryl, hold him."

Elizabeth released his wrist onto his chest, unwilling to drop it entirely, and headed immediately for the walls. They'd checked them for cracks previously, she had personally run her hand along all of these walls, so how the hell did they trigger the doors . . .

The engineer cast her mind back. Knives had simply walked towards the wall and it had opened, but they'd all done that. He'd said they had to remain within a certain distance of the building, so clearly there was a way to _leave_, but how . . .?

How had the doors in the ship worked? She'd just walked right to them, but of course she knew where they were –

And they had never opened while she'd just been pacing, like in Millie's room. They didn't operate on motion alone.

She pictured the aperture in the other room, and its distance from the window, and then she walked purposefully towards the wall in the same place. Just about the time she was pretty sure she was going to run nose-first into cement, she saw a bar of sunlight.

On her left.

She collided with the side of the doorframe, but not too hard, and shoved herself away a bit too forcefully to cover the blunder. It didn't matter if their captors saw her mistake. They knew how to get out.

"Elizabeth-"

She turned on her heels, quickly crossing back and taking hold of Aaron's forearm again. "Let's just get him out, okay?" She knew they wouldn't be able to easily drag him through the grass, but her need to leave their prison was just too great. Out there was salvation, and in here were horrors-

But Meryl was looking back the way they had come. There did not appear to be anything in the doorway.

"What?" She couldn't help her sharp tone. "Move, Meryl-"

Meryl licked her lips. "Look." And she jerked her chin at the floor.

There was a footstep through the spilled tea, as if someone in socks had just paced through. And the cup that had been knocked over was standing upright. The wet footprint continued, fading slightly as the liquid was left behind, towards the door. The strides were very long, and the footprint stopped just before the doorjamb.

Meryl had been standing _right there. _Right next to that cup, and had apparently felt nothing at all.

"Out there or in here, they're going to stay with us." Meryl's voice was hoarse, but steady for the first time since Knives had visited them. "It will be night soon, and it'll be cold. He's already in shock. If we try to spend the night out there, he could die."

Elizabeth straightened, letting her eyes flash. "I am _not_ leaving him here alone-"

Stryfe shook her head, once. "I'm not asking you to. I'll go find Doc and bring him back. Stay in this room until I get back, okay?"

That was a simply _terrible_ idea. "There are two of them, Meryl, if we split up we don't have a chance-"

And the other woman gave her a wan smile. "We never had one of those."

There was nothing to say to that, and Stryfe squared her shoulders and walked past her into the late afternoon light.

-x-

Wind touched her face, seemingly for the very first time, and Meryl Stryfe sucked in her first breath of Eden.

It was hard to enjoy it; she choked, and covered the cough as best she could so as not to alarm the statuesque engineer that was staring after her, face expressionless. They only had time for a quick glance before the door shut, and suddenly there was a wall there, whole and complete.

Meryl eyeballed the distance from either window. Four point three feet from the window on the right, and another three feet to the edge of the wall, and four point three again to the next window.

Sometimes being an insurance claims investigator came in handier than one would think.

"I'll be right back," she called at the house, as loudly as she dared, but Elizabeth never appeared by either of the windows, and Meryl found herself heavily resistant to the idea of peeking in. It was better to find that scene when she had Doc.

And Milly.

Meryl consciously refused to bite her lower lip, put on her best negotiating face, and turned on her heels to face Knives' Eden.

Their 'house' was a low, one story structure, with the same cement on the outside as in. It wasn't alone; smaller versions dotted the hillside as it curved increasingly steeply up to a tall cliff-like face. Scaling that would be difficult, and with the low shrubs and grasses as the only cover, only the new Guns could manage it unseen. To her left was an enormous mansion, it looked as if Knives had scooped it directly from one of the richest neighborhoods in December or Mei and transplanted it directly into his valley.

That was undoubtedly his house. And it was pretty unlikely that he'd let anything as disgusting as a human in there. She'd go there, if she had to, but those other sheds were a better bet.

Meryl shielded her eyes from the glaring suns and gave the valley another glance. There was a larger version of their building, two stories, but just as plain on the outside as theirs. That looked a bit more promising.

. . . or it was the domicile of their two invisible guards . . .

But hesitating would get her nowhere. Aaron was getting worse, not better. And she was about halfway down the gentler slope of the hill, so she had a good view of the valley and any structure that might contain Doc. Besides the white sheds, there were plenty of trees – she recognized them from the garden they'd visited when she'd been forced to take a shot at the female half of the Nebraska Family to save the old couple back in Promotory.

At least she'd thought she had, but later had realized there was no way her derringer had done that, the shot had been so loud, and now she could no longer pretend she didn't recognize it -

Unbidden, her gaze turned back to the mansion. Was . . was he in there . . . ?

If he was, if Vash really was in that house, then Knives would have certainly let Doc in. And there could be a trail that would lead through the grass back to where Doc was!

She started for the mansion quickly, keeping her strides short and her weigh balanced. The ground was uneven and soft, but not in the giving way of sand. It felt . . . strange, through her uniform boots. The grass kept grabbing at her ankles, adding drag to her steps, and she moved out of the highest of it, slightly further into the valley where it was shorter.

Probably because it got shaded sometimes by the trees. One of them, on her right, was gigantic, it stood outside of the main stands, and its roots were long and sinuous, like thick snakes –

No. Not like snakes.

Like _Plants._

There were Plants under the tree. In the bright afternoon light they didn't glow, they seemed to be a dull brown like the dirt, and they were plastered to it, too heavy outside of their bulbs to so much as raise their heads.

It was enough to arrest her in her tracks. She knew, of course she knew that Knives had taken them, and each of them had been photographed for Bernardelli's records, so she'd seen what a Plant – at least, a non-humanoid one – actually looked like, but-

But they hadn't looked like this. Vash had always been careful to wrap them in some type of special cloth, protecting their modesty, so only their faces and the limbs that had slipped out had been in those photographs. She'd studied them countless nights, reminding herself that each of those faces, so clearly female and so clearly drugged, each of those faces was as a child being freed from a lifetime of slavery. The confusion and fear in their sightless eyes had been because they didn't comprehend that there was anything outside of the glass world they'd always known.

They were children, and Vash had always had a soft spot for children.

But these . . . these were not children. They were all supple legs – way too many legs – and wings with impossibly long feathers that wrapped around their fully mature female bodies. Their hair was long, it reminded her very strongly of Vash's when it had gotten longer, but it wasn't as long as she would have thought it would be, considering they should never have had a haircut. All blondes.

Just like Vash and Knives.

Though they had no irises or pupils, though she had been told countless times that they couldn't see so much as they could sense, it felt as if they were all looking directly at her. One of them unwrapped a wing, stretching it up almost to touch the lowest hanging branches of the tree, and then folded it against her side.

They were gathered around something. Something whiter than they were, with hair almost the same color as dirt.

Meryl crept as close as she dared, hands wrapped around the hem of her jacket. It couldn't be . . .

_Nothing more than I have done for you._

Knives had left them to lay around their cell – and he had left Millie to do the same.

_You are free to assist her, if you wish._

Knives hadn't done anything for her. He'd just left her here. To die.

She was surrounded by Plants. Not humanoid ones. And she wasn't wearing a protective suit.

Millie's eyes weren't sightless, but they weren't seeing, either. Her pupils were tiny pinpricks, though she wasn't in direct sunlight she was lying on her back, with her head lolled to the right and her mouth fallen half-open. Like the Plants, she looked as if gravity was sucking her into the ground. But she was alive. No visible burns like Doc, no lesions. Her lips were badly chapped, but that was probably from the suns. Meryl bit her lip as Millie blinked, sluggishly.

"Heehn."

Her mouth didn't move at all, her jaw didn't open or close, and her lips never twitched. But Meryl was certain it was supposed to be a word. It wasn't a moan, it started and stopped and then Millie took a deeper breath.

"Heehn," she repeated.

Meryl raised a shaking hand and wiped thoughtlessly at a tickle on her jaw, realized it was a tear. She was crying.

"Millie," she whispered.

She was in nothing more than the white hospital robe, no sign of the blanket that she'd been wearing in the cab of the truck. Her bare feet were dirty, but it was probably from the ship, there wasn't any green on them so clearly she hadn't been wandering the grounds. Her head twitched uncoordinatedly to the left, and the Plant beside her did the same.

"Sempai," a hollow voice murmured. "Sempai."

No. It was more than one voice.

Meryl staggered back a step, and all their eyes – Millie's and the Plants – followed her. Millie's guttural annunciation was smoothly covered by their voices.

"Sempai. Sempai."

Meryl felt herself take another step back, and Millie's eyes drifted apart, with the left one watching her and the right one still trapped in the middle of the socket. Her head jerked again, but the right side of her body never so much as trembled. It was the right side of her mouth that had fallen open. It was her right eye that wouldn't move.

Back on the ship. Her right leg had given out. Doc had told her it was a stroke.

"Mille-"

_If you attempt interaction with any of my sisters, your life is forfeit._

But how in the hell was she going to get Millie out of there? There were three Plants, she was in the center of a triangle. There was only enough space for her to tiptoe between them and Millie, and she wasn't strong enough to pick Millie up bridal style to carry her away-

But she could carry Millie the same way Vash had carried Knives. Over her shoulder. If she could just get between them and Millie, she could grab the taller girl's arms. It could work.

It would put her within touching distance of the Plants. Without a suit, she was already close enough to get burned. If one of them reached out, if one of them touched either one of them -

Meryl glanced around, terrified she'd find Knives glaring down at her from the mansion porch, but there was no sign of anyone. Not Elizabeth. Not Doc. There was no pair of pale red eyes staring accusingly at her, no rash suddenly appearing on her skin.

Her stomach clenched, and Meryl stepped forward again, closer to Millie.

There were red marks on her right arm, bright on the pale skin. Not a whole handprint, not like them. More like three fingertips had been laid gently on her upper arm, the way one might try to get someone's attention. They'd touched her as well.

White-hot anger began roiling against the ice in her stomach, and Meryl almost tore off a fingernail yanking her fists off the hem of her jacket. One of those wretched twins had touched her. When she couldn't so much as raise a finger against them, they'd touched her –

Then again, someone must have carried her here. She couldn't have come down the valley wall on her own. Someone had brought her here and laid her beneath the tree. And there wasn't enough red on her for it to have been the Gun she'd seen. Doc only had one arm, so it must have been –

Have been –

No. Knives wouldn't have been that kind.

But then . . . the Plants?

She looked at them with new eyes, looked at their faces. None of them looked as they had in the photographs; they did not seem to glow with diffuse light. Perhaps that was why Millie didn't seem to be suffering from Plant radiation? Even their blonde hair seemed oily, like Millie's. But that one . . . with the upturned nose. That was the first Plant that had been removed, Millie had said she called herself Pelu. And the one near Millie's head, with the arch look about her forehead, that one was Tami. The third was lying with her back mostly to Meryl, and had several of her wings wrapped around her, as if she was cold.

"Sempai," they called out, in perfect unison with Millie. Each of them spoke at a different pitch, it sounded strangely like the chants at church.

"I'm here," she tried, a little louder around a thick lump in her throat. "Millie, I'm going to come over to you, okay?"

If these Plants were speaking for Millie, did that mean that she could hear through them? Were they doing what Knives had been doing? Were they acting as her brain?

But if they were, why did she look so terrible? And why did they look so much like her?

"Eh," Millie replied. It didn't sound particularly anxious. More importantly, none of the Plants moved. Nor did they interpret the word for her. They were silent.

So if they did understand her, or if Millie understood her and they understood Millie, then maybe it would be okay.

Did talking to Millie constitute interacting with the Plants?

_Who cares, you idiot,_ she growled at herself. _You're almost going to be stepping on them. _ If Knives could see her, she'd be dead before she ever got close to Millie.

If any of the Plants responded poorly to her, she would be dead as well.

The first step was harder than she'd thought it would be. On the balls of her feet, hardly daring to breathe. It would be easier to pull Millie from her waist so Meryl decided to go for her feet, which meant stepping over the Plant whose back was to her. Her wings were shifting down her sides and her hips, as if she was stroking herself to keep warm.

Was Millie cold, or were they?

"Uhm, hello," and she hated how uncertain she sounded, how fake the brightness was, "I'm going to come and get Millie, okay? She's sick, and she needs some medicine." Medicine might be a foreign concept, she wasn't sure Plants ever got sick in the same way humans did. "She needs help."

"Sempai," they responded, and Millie closed her left eye. The right one remained open but drooped.

Meryl wiped her chin again with her cuff, and took another step. "I won't hurt you." It came out terribly unsteadily. "I just want to help my friend. Is that okay?"

"Unngh." It sounded weary, and Millie didn't open her left eye.

Oh, Millie.

She took another step, letting the grass rustle, moving slowly. Announcing herself as much as possible. If just one of those wings opened, it would touch her.

"I'm going to step over you now." Please let this be alright. "Don't be afraid."

Not like me.

Another step. She was within touching distance of the Plant. She'd specifically chosen the bottom pair of legs to step over, with the smallest set of wings, and she leaned forward a little, hoping to catch the Plant's eyes –

Only the right one. It was staring forward, and her left was closed.

"H-here I go," she faltered, and then she lifted her right leg.

Outside of the stroking movement of the larger sets of wings, the Plant didn't respond.

Meryl dared to step over the Plant, afraid to commit her weight until her toe touched down, just next to Millie's bare ankle. Nothing alarming happened. Millie – and the third Plant – did not open their left eyes. No one spoke.

She waited just a second, then eased her weight onto her right foot, and all three Plants raised their heads.

Meryl jumped a foot into the air with a squawk and flinched hard, unconsciously bringing her feet together and landing less than an inch from the third Plant. She was looking at her with both eyes, hair drifting becomingly around her face, and one of her calf wings reacted, folding itself into that scant distance between them.

Meryl yelped and hopped again, halfway up Millie's legs and now beside the knees of Pelu. The Plant responded to the quick motion by cocking her head slowly to the right. There was no fear apparent in her face, and Meryl danced in place, arms outstretched to keep her balance. The third Plant just watched her.

And Millie opened her left eye.

"_Sempai_."

As one, all three Plants reached out towards her with an outstretched hand. Pelu was the only one who connected, wrapping her hand around Meryl's right leg. There was nowhere else to go, and Meryl squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the pain.

-x-

"NO!"

The air was searing, his eyes were watering too badly to see but he still strained against the buffeting exhaust, moving one hand in front of the other. The steamer was completely out of control now, the engine had to be half melted and the gases were blistering. The steel pipe he was using to pull himself towards the engine compartment was weakening in the heat, and some of the wrist-sized screws were rending with a terrible metallic shriek.

They sounded like the passengers. They sounded terrified.

"VASH!"

It was incredible how such a tiny person could make her voice carry through the wind, and he grit his teeth and forced his left hand to keep grasping. He had to get there in time, he had to change their course –

He was never going to make it. They had too much momentum, even if he managed to change their direction the steamer would just go into a slide. Their collision with that cliff was all but fated at this point.

BDN had made certain of that.

"Sempai!"

That voice stole all the breath from his chest, and Vash ducked his head, blinking down between his chest and the steamer to see the upside-down, determined little form of Meryl Stryfe crawling laboriously up the ladder.

She'd get seared to a crisp, what the hell did she think she was doing-

If he didn't get rid of that cliff, they were all going to die. Nothing would stop the steamer now, and that was a solid granite wall they were rushing toward. It wouldn't take the same effort as the fifth moon, he could charge and –

Vash braced his right foot against the joint that held the pipe to the roof of the steamer, reaching for the Colt. It would hurt, he barely had time as it was, could barely see, but his aim didn't have to be perfect. There was no settlement for hundreds of iles in that direction, the beam would go straight into space thanks to the curvature of Gunsmoke. It would be safe.

Vash took a deep breath of the choking exhaust, then braced his right arm with his left. A twinge ran through his chest, clearly a warning. He gritted his teeth and tried to remember what it felt like. What it felt like at July. What it felt like in Augusta. He reached deep into that place – and his grasping fingers met a flat wall.

Vash's eyes flew open in shock. The Colt remained intact. The cylinder that Knives had built inside of it had not emerged.

The thought of his brother made his chest twinge again, and Vash cried out in frustration, tightening his fist. Now, of all the times, he couldn't do it? Was he too afraid of the pain?

_I have to. They'll die._

He closed his eyes, willing the feathers to grow. Willing himself to feel the static electricity of the cartridge interacting with the Gate within him. Willing his chest to burst into flames, his heart to falter. He threw his arms open wide to the pain. The twinge was more, this time, it was a shudder that weakened his spine, and the force of the next explosion threw him down onto the steamer roof.

"VASH!"

He clung to the scorching metal, felt the heat burning his skin. He still had the Colt in his right hand, what was wrong? He reached out telepathically, searching for any trace of the Plant he knew must have left its imprint on the cartridge, and there was nothing. No resonance. It was as if the gun was not even there.

There was no more time.

His eyes flew open as the countdown in his head expired, in time to see the mottled granite rushing to meet him, to meet them. He was flung far into the air as the engine crumbled like paper against the stone, the metal and the shrieking and Meryl was in the air as well, he reached out with all his might, but his arm did not extend, no feathers, his fingertips brushed empty air and her eyes watched him, unable to believe that he hadn't caught her, and then he struck the rock, he felt his back break-

-x-

Knives opened his eyes, glancing at the screen. Willing it to show him a fluctuation. The idiot had actually tried this time, even if he hadn't succeeded –

And there it was. The smallest possible unit that could be measured. One hundredth of a second in duration.

That could have been anything. The equipment would have picked up the slightest psionic resonance. The slightest telepathic murmur. It didn't indicate that the Gate itself had responded.

It indicated nothing.

Knives shouted in frustration, shoving himself from the tube. This was getting him nowhere. If he suppressed the idiot's awareness and played to his emotions, he got the same result as the first time. He'd killed Rem a dozen ways by now, and not once had Vash given in. This was the first scenario that had gotten Vash to agree to using his Angel arm, but even now-

Even with no memory of what had happened to him, he couldn't overcome the mental suppression. Wherever Vash had gone in his mind to prevent himself from turning, it could not be found.

_Damn him_. How could Vash know so little about his own powers, and in this condition, still be able to hide that part of himself away? How could he have put it someplace that he couldn't find?

_Where_ would the idiot hide such a thing? There had to be a path-

A long hallway, choked with ash and wind, wooden doors unevenly spaced, falling apart –

Knives took a quick breath, blinking repeatedly.

What was_ that_ . . . ? He hadn't seen that in Vash's mind. Vash's mind was filled with empty space, a universe with diffuse light created by millions of tiny stars. There was nothing like that -

A broken bulb. The glass from the outer bulb had come down around him, slicing the back of his hand. The air was choked and opaque with the ash and dirt of the destroyed settlements. Static leapt from cloud to cloud, providing the only illumination.

That image of the doors, it felt just like that place. That place that Vash had let him see.

His Eden. His mind.

What the hell . . .?

Knives closed his eyes, willing the flash to come again. A hallway . . . but it was like grasping water. The broken moment of a forgotten dream.

A dream. Perhaps when he had been unconscious, the inhibitors and the production Plant –

The spider.

Knives felt his eyebrows furrow in irritation. That damned woman. He'd meant to leave her with instructions, but the footage showed it had gone much further than that. Much further than he'd intended.

Was it possible . . .? Was it possible he had actually formed some type of telepathic bond with her? If she had seen what Vash could see, that would mean she'd had access to his mind. That would mean it had gone both ways.

If it had gone both ways . . . no. That was unthinkable.

What had the spider seen? What did she know?

Knives opened his eyes, staring blankly at his brother's forehead. Controlling the mental construct the way he was doing revealed every thought Vash had as he had it. Four times now Vash had sensed something wasn't quite right, had sensed something amiss, and he was certain that was contributing to Vash's subconscious realization that he was not really in danger.

Had the garbage somehow left something behind? Something Vash could sense on him, like the scent of a lascivious woman brushing against his coat in a crowd? Just the thought repulsed him, made his skin crawl.

What had the woman done?

-x-

**Author's Notes: **I know you guys are very worried about Millie, and I'm afraid I haven't really dispelled that issue yet. Sorry. I promise that I will, in gory detail, but it will probably take a couple chapters. It really depends on Knives. He's been calmer than I plotted him to be, all those months ago, and it's kind of screwing with me. I guess I should have figured he'd be a pain in the ass.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

EDIT: Sorry about the double post. Posted the wrong version. My bad.

-x-

He was barely alive. Critically dehydrated. Even with the remnants of sandy fabric that served to protect him from the elements aside, he was visibly demolished. Right arm missing.

That body was held together with a lick and a promise, and yet, he was still alive.

Every second counted, and he had never moved so fast in all his life. A line, lifegiving fluids, directly into the blood vessels that fed his heart. Monitors on his brainwaves, his temperature, his blood pressure. All of it showed him what he expected to see.

This young man, this comatose traveler, would not live to see another sunrise.

But he looked so young. Sunny blond hair, so serene beneath his pain and weariness. This was a young man who had accepted death, who had accepted that he had wandered into the desert and would never wander out again.

And that wasn't acceptable.

His right arm ached in sympathy, and he turned to the green workbench, where a new left one lay waiting. It snapped on effortlessly, just like his toys when they came apart, and the young man bounced up and was gone with the echo of maniacal laughter.

He turned, intent on sleeping after his hard work, and a strange black anvil landed where the blond man had been, spinning like a top on the gelform gurney, which collapsed under its apparently considerable weight. The rotations eventually ceased, and a green, armored arm clanked into view, holding the rest of the mass steady and upright.

"I am Hoppard the Gauntlet," the top announced. "I am here to kill you."

A strange grate came into view from behind the top, and the green arm raised, and leveled a cannon in the direction the laughing blond had disappeared.

Brad and Jessica walked, hand in hand, directly into Hoppard's line of sight, and in a flash of light they were gone.

He cried out, rushing toward the place they had been, but no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't run. The harder he thought about it, the slower and more clumsy he became, until at last he was panting and moving nowhere through air as thick as pudding. Knives was beside him, also watching, his blue eyes clear.

"Augusta wasn't a mistake," he said deliberately, and in another flash of Hoppard's guns the Plant too vanished.

He collapsed, his chest aching, and landed hard on his right shoulder. The pain was present and immediate, and try as he might, he simply couldn't recover. No amount of struggle got him out of the muck, it was a deep black, congealed blood, and the stench was overwhelming. They were all dead, no one had cleaned up the bodies, no one would find him here. No one would pull him out.

"Sooner or later it had to happen," the black suited priest observed, ruined and rotted cigarette on his blue lips. "How long did you think you could pretend?"

He reached out to the only source of light, but it was too hot, it burned like white fire. The fire raced down his left arm, crawling into his nostril, trickling lava into his throat. He swallowed painfully, and realized that he was awake.

Doc swallowed again, fighting the urge to gag against the unfamiliar, painful thing in his throat. The weariness, the pain in his right arm and chest, all of it was still there. The bright light was on the ceiling, he determined, and he surrendered to the too-warm discomfort of the gelfoam bed, trying to calm the pain.

Breathe. Listen. Breathe.

There was the familiar hum of machinery, and liquid gurgling to his right. Doc shifted gingerly, and fuzzy eyes traced a thick rubber cuff separating his arm from his shoulder – or perhaps not, as it was black and he couldn't see through it. A flushing liquid bubbled in the box beyond. Standard lines crossed from his left arm over his chest, leading to a stand containing a few small bags of clear chemicals. Something tugged his nostril as he turned too far, and the painful thing in his throat shifted again, like drainage after one woke with a cold. An oxygen line, and perhaps a feeding tube as well. A glance past his gnarled bare feet showed him the entrance to the main laboratory, but he could not tell if it was currently occupied.

He was in the side laboratory. He was still in Eden.

It would appear that Knives had decided to save his life. Or rather, prevent him from taking it.

Letting him commit suicide by Knives, as it were, would have been the same as letting Vash off the hook for doing the damage in the first place. He wished to be dead, so contrary Knives decided he should live. Doc felt the ghost of a wavy smile touch his cracked lips. He wasn't sure if that told him more about Knives' relationship with his brother, or his relationship to the Plant himself.

He turned his left wrist experimentally, but there was no resistance. He had not been bound to the table. He could possibly tear the line and his artery, perhaps bleed out before anyone could respond – and the very thought of it roiled his stomach up into knots.

He didn't want to do that. The idea of dying was terrifying, and his trembling left arm would not move.

Doc closed his eyes briefly, willing the new nausea to go away, and then jumped when the machine by his right gurgled, and the flushing liquid drained quickly into the tanks below. With a hiss of releasing gas, the cuff around his right shoulder relaxed, and Doc felt –

Felt warmth, as the machine began drying whatever was in the box. He still had at least part of an arm, and it still contained functioning nerves. It was aching like crazy. The machine chimed to indicate the change in treatment, but no one appeared in the doorway.

Doc waited, breathing the adrenaline out of his system, but even after a significant amount of time, nothing happened. There was no sound from the other lab. Doc let his gaze wander around the room, noting the surprising lack of other life-support equipment around him, and it eventually settled on the steady blink of the maintenance lights, flashing on the repurposed generator panels. On and off. On and off.

Some time later, Doc startled awake. It was a little cooler, but a quick look around showed him the same room as before. He was alone. The machine by his right arm had finished its drying cycle and was now silent, the cuff no tighter than the sleeve of a labcoat. The pain in his chest felt sharper, and he craned his head up to look at the IVs .

The bags were empty.

No wonder he felt more coherent.

There were no alarms sounding, so it was possible Knives did not yet realize he was no longer sedated. Doc eased his left elbow against the gelfoam bed. The oxygen line pulled at the whiskers on his face, and the feeding tube shifted painfully, but he was able to partially lever himself up, and his arm – not just a graft – slipped from the relaxed rubber sleeve. Doc grimaced when the raw flesh contacted the rougher sheet of the gelform table, but it wasn't as painful as he'd expected. The limb still terminated in a stump above where his elbow might have been, but –

But it was clearly flesh. Pale, thin, pink flesh.

Doc stared at it for a moment. This was not artificial. His own skin and muscle had been regenerated. The rotting graft had contained his DNA, so it wasn't as if Knives had had to start from scratch, but this . . . this Lost Technology was beyond anything Doc had on his ship.

Regeneration of flesh required not only a tremendous amount of power, but specifically a very focused frequency of Plant-based power. A dedicated Plant. It was the reason he could not grow Vash's original arm back. His ship had barely been flying as it was, he hadn't been able to isolate an entire Plant for just medical –

But there were no bulbs here. There was no Plant generator here. All Knives had was solar and nuclear power. It could not be converted into Plant-like power. And there was no way that he would believe Knives himself had supplied the necessary energy. Nor did he believe Knives would allow his brother to, even if Vash could have.

Doc turned again to his left, trying to focus dry eyes and a neck trembling with the exertion of holding up a heavy head. The equipment on the far wall . . . but no. Surely Knives had repurposed it for terraforming. Surely it was not actually indicating Plant-based power generation.

That would require bulbs. That would require Knives to put Plants into bulbs.

Elizabeth would have told him if Knives was turning around and re-installing the Plants here. And even if he had hidden it from her, Vash would never have allowed it.

Doc glanced again at the equipment around him, then at his feet. He could hardly keep his left elbow under himself, there was no way he could get off the table and to the computer systems. The last time he had been here, they had been dark. But if they really hadn't been repurposed, if they really were just like the system on his own ship –

Then they indicated bulbs. Dozens of them.

And they indicated that four were active.

Doc focused on the dark monitors, and the lights blinking underneath. He wasn't an authority, nor an engineer, but he could read basic Plant outputs as well as the next man. All four of the bulbs with blinking orange lights were giving off low amounts of energy, which was being fed into the system.

But from where . . . ? Where could Knives keep dozens of bulbs?

Doc let himself sink back against the gelfoam, easing his left arm straight and cursing silently. Of course, the elevator and the sheds he'd seen. They were all maintenance entrances, but access to where . . . ? Was there truly part of a SEEDs ship buried beneath them?

Was this Knives' true purpose? Was talk of setting the Plants free just words, to allow Knives to take control of them?

How could Vash not have known?

Doc studied the rest of the equipment on the far wall closely. Most of it looked much like the equipment on his own ship. There was no indication of a main environmental system, there was no hull integrity system, no apparent weapons system, no engine indicators. Nothing to indicate a full, intact SEEDs ship. And those orange lights indicated sedation levels at best. What he saw would be insufficient to power the equipment at his side, let alone the New Kennedy.

So if Knives had bulbs here in Eden, and Vash had allowed it . . . perhaps the twins were using them to train their sister Plants how to live outside the bulb? Harden their skin to tolerate atmosphere, and solar radiation? Perhaps after their uninstallation Knives put them into bulbs to reduce stress to them during the transition.

And as a bonus, he could use the energy they emitted naturally to continue terraforming. All that green up there, it wasn't coming from the Plants in the forest. It was coming from these Plants.

But Knives would have known he didn't need that many bulbs. Where had he found so many, intact, and unoccupied? He must have stumbled upon a SEEDs ship, more than one. And why not, he'd had over a hundred years to find them, and of course the knowledge of where the majority of the fleet would have crashed, as he was directly responsible.

Was this what he had told them, was it simply freeing his sisters . . . or was it preparations for an offensive?

_What are you up to, my dear Knives?_

The weight of a hand registered, on his good shoulder, and in the reflection of the polished silver equipment at his feet Doc saw a figure standing behind him.

His gut clenched painfully, but he could tell immediately it was not Knives. The figure was far too short. Doc buried his skull as deeply as he could into the pillow, looking up. He made out a very pale, angular face, studded with what appeared to be tiny, translucent calamus, roughly half an inch long and incredibly thin. The man met his gaze evenly with eyes of a faded red, which normally indicated albinism, and his lips were almost bloodless and neither smiled nor frowned.

The hand on his shoulder remained, and after a moment of silence, Doc tried to speak around the line in his throat.

"Young man . . . what is your name?"

The man – he appeared to be in his upper twenties – gave him a long, impassive look.

Silent. Just the kind of butler that would appeal to someone like Knives. Doc tried again. "Are you responsible for my treatment?"

Slightly narrowed eyes, and then a deliberate, single nod.

Doc graced the man with a smile – or at least he hoped so. "You did a fine job. Thank you."

The eyes didn't change, but the pressure on his shoulder increased slightly. This young man was certainly not a Plant, he was hardly taller than Doc himself. Those strange calamus seemed to cover his entire body, with much longer, flexible tubules on his scalp rather than hair. It seemed to give him a pearled look, and light played across the filaments with a very fascinating pattern.

He was the invisible guard. Perhaps it was gas exchange inside all of those calamus, forcing light to bend in certain ways, that it would appear to bend completely around him . . .

But it didn't really matter, Doc concluded. He was simply a servant of Knives, not worth further study. He relaxed his neck, letting his head fall forward and closing his eyes against the glaring ceiling light. He had been intent on something earlier, but it could wait until he felt better. Perhaps a nap -

Doc opened his eyes with a start. The bulbs, how could he have forgotten -

Doc glanced openly at the man's hand, still on his shoulder. He was still wearing the civilian Oxford shirt he had been issued on the New Kennedy, but at least one fingertip was actually touching his skin. The rash he had observed on Millie Thompson, of course-

Quite suddenly he had no desire to study that hand any further. It was better not to know.

The hand withdrew.

Docc relaxed, staring up at those red eyes, and said the next thing that came to mind. "Your mutation, young man . . . is it terribly painful?"

In answer, he laid his hand gently against his face, and Doc got the feeling that, looking into those calm eyes, there was no pain. He seemed content.

The hand withdrew, and Doc closed his eyes with a sigh. This weariness . . . he just needed a spot of nap. Just a few minutes.

-x-

Meryl Stryfe jerked awake with a squeak.

She was sitting upright. Her back was against a tree. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, one partially propped up. She still had two, which for some reason was not what she had been expecting. Beyond them –

Millie.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes, daring to raise a hand to her face, and it didn't hurt. She felt stiff, as if she'd fallen asleep at her desk at the home office, and her butt was numb. But nothing hurt. No pain, not really.

No burns. No nausea. No blood.

But . . .

She remembered the Plant touching her, remembered each of its fingers wrapping around her leg, and she yanked her right leg up reflexively. Yet the uniform bore no marks. No burns. No tears. It was as if it hadn't even . . . happened . . .

Meryl stared past her knees at Millie, lying exactly where she'd been. The grass around her was thick and green, and it seemed to radiate warmth and life. Her head was turned away from Meryl, but she could see that Millie's mouth was still open, her eyes were still open, and she was looking at the lone Plant beside them.

The one that Meryl had stepped over. The one she didn't recognize.

It lay also where she last remembered, wings still wrapped around itself – herself – like a cloak, and one of their guards was stroking her like a kitten.

Meryl heard herself squeak again, flinching back against the tree, but the trio did not respond. She might as well not have even been there. Millie was staring absently at the sky, or perhaps the Plant, and the Plant was flattened on the ground as the strange, short mutant took his bared, down-covered hand and stroked her shoulder.

His touch left no mark; neither did hers. There was no burn, no rash. The Plant was glowing just slightly, just a little in the early dawn, and all around them was a white, light fog. The tree above her looked shadowy and surreal, and Meryl began to wonder if she was really awake at all.

The Plant turned towards her companion, her yellow eyes wide open, and raised her dominant right arm. She stretched out her long, graceful fingers, and in a moment they were covered as well, in a glowy down. Then she cupped the man's cheek, gently. He leaned into the gesture, red eyes wide with wonder, and then the Plant raised her head, just a little, and gave a quiet sigh.

Quick as lightning he had reached beneath her, and the same way Millie would pick up a steel beam, the short man stood, with the Plant gathered carefully in his arms. There was none of the struggle Aaron had shown, with the Plant over his shoulder, in the mist it looked as if the Plant weighed nothing. A spare foot trailed fondly along Millie's side as the man turned and carried the Plant into the diffuse white light.

For a long moment, nothing happened, and Meryl reached under her sleeve and pinched herself.

_That_ she felt, yet the fog didn't lift. She was far too comfortable and warm, if it really was dawn, it should be too cold, she and Millie should be able to see their breath, but the fog seemed to be insulating them, even with the Plant gone.

Meryl dared to crawl onto her knees, putting her hand on Millie's face and turning it towards her. Millie's eyes were unfocused, and she grunted.

"Millie." She'd fallen asleep. It was already morning. She'd promised Elizabeth she'd be back, the engineer was alone and Aaron-

Meryl scrambled to her feet, using the tree to balance as a sudden wave of dizziness crashed into her. _Got up too fast_, stupid, she'd wasted so much time –

Which way was the house? The suns were barely up, she couldn't see much beside the glowing fog, and it seemed to her that the tree was . . . but only if she was still on the same side of it . . .

Still disoriented, Meryl stumbled around the tree, and shockingly cold air splashed her in the face. It helped; she sucked down a deep breath, and continued her lap. She couldn't see more than a few feet for the fog, and as she returned to Millie's side of the tree she might as well have walked back into the Bernardelli office on a winter's morning. The air temperature increased, suddenly, at least fifteen degrees.

It wasn't just the fog, then. It was . . . it was around Millie. The air was warmer around her.

Meryl hesitated, kneeling again beside her friend. The ground beneath her knee was warm, but it wasn't hot. It wasn't warm enough to warm the air. She laid a firm hand on Millie's forehead, but Millie didn't feel particularly warm either. No fever. The other woman reacted by jerking her head a little to the side, her left side, and Meryl smoothed her hair without a second thought.

"It's okay, it's me," she crooned, as the taller girl cried out. "I've got you, Millie. I'm not going anywhere." She wasn't even sure which way to look in this fog, let alone whether or not she could find Millie in it again. The suns would burn it off soon enough.

She'd just wait a few minutes, until it lifted. Until she was sure that Millie would still be in line of sight.

Guilt stabbed her, deep in her gut, and Meryl pressed her lips together and stroked Millie's oily hair.

She'd promised Elizabeth she would return. Aaron could be –

Millie stiffened under her fingers, eyes wide open, and stared straight at her.

-x-

Weight on his chest. Unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. Warm.

He cracked an eye open, wary of the light, but it wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. The white ceiling wasn't his, so clearly they were staying at her place. Must have been a hell of a night, that they'd crashed on the floor. Someone had had the sense to grab a blanket-

He closed his eyes against reality, not that it did him a damn bit of good, and intentionally relaxed. Then he opened them again, and pressed his chin into his chest, getting the lay of the land.

Miss Elizabeth was awake; her green eyes were distant but they focused on him as he shifted. He was weak. Worse than useless. Even that little movement caused his neck muscles to tremble. She gave him the faintest impression of a smile, it didn't touch the green.

"Good morning." He hadn't realized her arm had been across his chest until she drew it back, beneath the white blanket. She had glued herself against his side, her head pillowed on what was turning out to be a numb right arm. He could still see the collar of her jacket beneath her dark hair, and the edge of the blanket barely covered her back.

Sharing body heat.

He was suddenly a little relieved that he felt like death warmed over, and her smile became dry. "How are you feeling?"

Here at the end of the world, lying on the floor with a beautiful woman in his arms. His employer, no less. Not the first place you expected to be in the morning. "What did I miss?" Mucus muted his voice, but he wasn't feeling up to coughing it off.

Her eyes closed, giving him quite a view of her long lashes. "A bit. You met one of Knives' staff. Do you remember?"

He grunted a no, and her smile widened, just a little. "I kind of figured. After that, Knives threw Stryfe around a little. I'm not sure why. He left her basically intact." The tone was thoughtful. A good distraction for a bored engineer, at any rate. "You were in need of medical attention, so we split up. Meryl was supposed to find Doc and return."

Her tone changed very subtly, icing slightly, and that was really all he needed to know. "She didn't return."

"We're on our own." Miss Elizabeth stretched a little beneath her quarter of the blanket. "I didn't see any reason to move you from the room, so it seems we've been served breakfast in bed."

Aaron Carter digested that, relaxing back onto the floor. He was in no condition to sit up, let alone protect her from anything. Besides, he wasn't hungry. He was . . . curiously numb. Heavy. Probably not a good sign, not if the Plant had had his staff render first aid.

"And the blanket?" They had been given no such luxuries to this point, after all. Maybe it had to do with the deal Doc had worked out.

Miss Elizabeth nestled a little further into his chest. "I told you. We're on our own."

Carter grunted again, to acknowledge her words. He no longer felt tense, no longer felt fear, but that didn't mean she didn't. As paranoid as they all were, it was no wonder she'd think Stryfe ditched them to protect herself. Especially if Knives had threatened her in person.

Still, he knew that tone. Lefferts' head had rolled the last time she'd used that tone. She'd left something out, something she didn't want to talk about. And it occurred to him to wonder what the blanket might have cost.

-x-

Her face struck the ground, hard, and ash filled her mouth.

Millie Thompson gasped, stunned, and choked on the soft splinters of long-burned wood. Steel fingers dug into the hair on the back of her skull. She coughed, grabbing that wrist with both of her hands as the owner began striding forward, dragging her along.

She scrabbled along as best she could, afraid her head might come off. It was hard to get her feet under her; she kept tripping on her duster, he was holding her head at a funny height and not slowing in the least, not even when she squeezed his wrist as hard as she could.

He was mad at her. He was furious.

Her calves and back were burning from the strain of trying to stumble along with him when he finally tossed her aside, just like he had done in the warehouse a few days before. She was still coughing, still had spongy spent cinders in her mouth, but at least she knew, now. She knew where she was.

And more importantly, this time she knew _who_ she was.

Her duster was all tangled around her legs, and her eyes were watering from her smarting scalp, but she still rolled to her back, just as she had before, and she looked up at Millions Knives.

He was not calm. Not like he'd been back then. He looked a cross between Mr. Vash when she and Meryl were threatened, and a charging thomas. The moment the thought crossed her mind she tried to squash it, because of course Mr. Knives wouldn't be pleased that she was comparing him to a thomas and he could hear her thoughts, she knew that –

And there was no trace of the little boy. It was like he had never been.

Behind him, the wind was roaring, but they were far outside the city. The broken bulb, presiding over its ruins, was still readily visible against the red sky. It was hard to tell if it was dawn or dusk. They were on a road, she could feel the hard cobbles under her back, and his eyes seemed to glow the same color as the lightning that was streaking from cloud to cloud behind his head.

And she found she was not nearly as afraid as she should have been.

"How dare you." His voice was even and deadly. "How _dare_ you."

Millie Thompson fished the last gritty bit onto the tip of her tongue and wiped it off on her lips instead of spitting. Her sleeve was her usual sleeve – this time there was no billowing white shirt, no fitted jeans. She had her brown shoes, her standard Bernardelli uniform. She was herself. She was Millie Thompson and not Rem.

Was that why he was so angry? Because he could see now who she was?

"I don't know-" she started, and then she found herself flying through the air again. She landed hard on her right hip, and the taste of ash in her mouth was replaced with copper. It felt like someone had just dropped a support beam on her chest.

"Do not speak to me, you miserable dullard," he snarled, she could hear his footsteps grinding sand into the cobbles. "Make no sound."

She blinked the spots out of her eyes, trying to make out his shape as he loomed closer – and continued past her. Nonplussed, Millie lay stunned another moment before she dared to crane up her neck.

He had stalked to an intersection in the road she lay on, and stopped there, surveying the branch as if it had just insulted him.

He was in the same bodysuit that he'd been wearing when she had first seen him, red and white and different than he'd worn as a young man. The wind seemed to ease by the fabric of it, raking his hair only gently. Hers, it treated like Rem's. It almost felt like there were fingers trying to hold her by it again, and it was a struggle just to get to her feet.

Upside-up, she could see that it wasn't so much an intersection as another road that had just run right into the first. It was like two civil engineers had had a disagreement about which street had priority, and rather than construct a real intersection, one had just plowed their street right through the other's. The cobbles didn't match; the avenue that ran from the bulb and the city was worn and utilitarian. The stones in the second road had actually cracked the first, like the roots of a tree that had been planted too close to the foundations of a house. They were a brighter color, red clay but with yellow and white ceramic bits in them, like sunlight breaking through. The wind was doing its best to cover them with ash and sand, but these were smooth stones, and it wouldn't stick.

Knives stood there in the center of the cracked joint, glowering at the cobblestones as if he might ignite them with his glare.

Millie watched him a moment, then turned to look up the avenue back towards the city. It was straight and wide and there was a second branch, farther up the way, before the ruined city itself. The third road seemed to lead off to the left, the same direction as this one, and it disappeared into the wind and the sand. It was smooth and hardpacked dirt instead of stone, almost paved, and it was a true intersection rather than a collision of roads. She couldn't see where it went.

Just past that, there was the debris of the city's main gates, stretching around the city almost as far as she could see.

That was the city she had explored. That was where the little boy lived, and every room held one of his memories.

When she was in that city, she was Rem. But now, now that they stood outside of it, she was Millie Thompson.

Millie turned back to Knives, expecting him to say or do something, but he just glared at the stones.

Her ribs still ached from his strike, and she wrapped her right arm around her chest, using her left to scoop her mousy brown hair out of her eyes. Like Rem's, it didn't do her any good at all, and after trying and failing to figure out which direction the prevailing wind was coming from she gave up. Knives was obviously very unhappy about someone putting a road right through his, and he'd acted like it was her fault before he'd told her to be quiet –

Millie's eyes widened.

_It will stop hurting if you stop fighting!_

And then she'd woken . . . and the computers, and poor Captain Faber and Grey and oh, Sunjy, and Miss Elizabeth and Meryl and –

And Mr. Vash!

Millie hurried towards Mr. Knives. Of course, maybe he didn't know yet –

But the little boy had said his brother felt right next to him. Surely Mr. Knives knew that Mr. Vash was alive and they had escaped.

Didn't he?

"Mr. Knives," she tried, as softly as she could and still be heard over the wind, "Mr. Vash, he's okay, we got off the ship -"

Knives turned from his contemplation of the streets, and anything else she wanted to say crawled back into her throat. If the look he'd been giving the stones had been blistering, the look he was giving her was sheer black hatred.

"Of course," he growled, though it seemed mostly to himself. "Of course." And then a smile that was anything but twisted his lips, and his focus returned to her. "This is the last time you will disobey me."

He started towards her, but she refused to give ground again. He'd done this before, as a young man, and it was no different now. He was Mr. Knives, yes, but now she knew why he felt the things he felt, why he was so frightened and angry.

His lips twisted further, and despite her intentions she flinched back. She couldn't help it; he wasn't walking towards her anymore. He was flying. He had wings, several sets of them, and extra arms and legs and his eyes were a solid yellow, burning into hers. He was a Plant, the biggest one she'd ever seen. He towered over her, he was as large as the bulb and she could see now that it had been his, the one he'd escaped from, in that city. He had broken it.

"Do you think it is I who is frightened?" his voice thundered in her head, she cried out and clamped her hands over her ears in pain. "Do you think it is I who is afraid of you?"

She squeezed her eyes shut against the burning radiation she could feel, sinking into her skin. Her duster wasn't going to protect her, he was going to burn her to ash and –

And he _was_ afraid of her. Because of what she knew. She _could_ hurt him, more deeply than any human alive, because-

"HOW DARE YOU!" he roared, and the force of his anger blew her back. She felt herself sliding along the utilitarian cobbles, but it was cooler, and her thin shirt was no protection for her back. Millie let go of her ears to steady herself, forcing open her eyes despite the ebony hair whipping into them, and her bare feet found purchase on the sandy stones.

Her bare feet.

Millie blinked at her legs, at the blue denim instead of her brown uniform trousers, but she still knew who she was. She wasn't Rem, she was Millie Thompson.

Millie swallowed hard, and then dared to look back up at Mr. Knives.

He was, if anything, larger than he had been a moment ago, so swollen with rage and resentment he was no longer even recognizable as a Plant. Now he just looked like a monster.

"But you're not a monster!" she cried out, more at the world than at the hideous glowing thing that had taken Mr. Knives' place.

"YOU'RE NOT HER!" The wind was suddenly gone, the air was perfectly still, holding its breath. "You think I won't strike because you look like her? Rem was a FOOL! She died to save the very ones she knew would do this to us! She chose them over us!"

"That's not true and you know it!" Her voice shook. "She didn't choose at all! She loved you and she loved them too!"

"HOW COULD SHE LOVE THEM!" He was hovering above her, covering even the sky, and Millie found she could not move, couldn't take her eyes off him. "She KNEW what they would do! Knew what they would do to Vash!"

It was hard to take a breath, but impossible not to gasp. "What they would do to Vash? You mean what YOU did to Mr. Vash!"

He landed with a bellow, she was surrounded by his arm and legs and the brilliance of his body, but still she squinted through her tears to face him. "You hurt Mr. Vash! You caused all those terrible things to happen! You put the price on his head!"

It took her a moment to realize that she was no longer pinned to anything, that there was no more lightning in the sky. Just her and Knives. It was easier to breathe. "And even after everything you've done, he still loves you! I know that you know that, because I saw it! And Mr. Vash, he loves me too, and Meryl and Doc and Miss Elizabeth!"

"And it's _her_ fault! _Her_ stupid idealism! THIS IS HER FAULT!"

"This is your fault," Millie told him simply.

Knives threw back his head and screamed his frustration to the void that was around them, and his fist slammed into the nothing beside her head with a deafening crack. Millie's stomach chilled to ice at the pain in that echo.

"You know _nothing_!" he hissed at her. "You filthy piece of _garbage_, you don't have the capacity to understand _anything!_ You saw _nothing_!"

"I saw what they did to Tessla!" she shot back, and the giant Plant-like thing that was Knives actually looked startled. "I saw what they did when they first crashed. I saw how they survived, and turned on each other." She remembered feeling the revulsion – _his_ revulsion – at the desperate way they fought in long lines for water, and how fearful they had been when he had reached out to his sister and almost caused an overload –

And Mr. Knives was suddenly Mr. Knives again. He was leaning over her, just as he had done in the warehouse, and the hands that had been beside her head were now clamping it between them.

But this time, she knew what was about to happen. "Don't you go into my mind!" she snapped. "I didn't see those things on purpose! You put me in that city! You put me in these clothes! You made me –"

He had made her sick. He had promised that it would stop hurting, but he had done the damage to her anyway.

She blinked up at him, stunned. "You hurt me," she said slowly. "You lied to me."

Knives looked _livid_, and she could feel his hands shaking with effort, equally trying to crush her and hold himself back. "I lied to you?" Each word was bitten off. "I _hurt_ you?"

The ice in her stomach spread like electricity into her limbs. The left side began to ache, but her right side went totally numb. She couldn't even feel his hand on that side of her face.

"You don't know what pain _is_," he spat. His eyes bored into hers, and this time she could not close them. Something _moved_, in her head, behind her eyes, and she cried out in surprise. The sensation eased off, but something kept tickling there.

"So let me teach you," he continued hatefully. "Let me give you the gift of understanding, spider. What you feel is your own clotted blood moving through your brain. Whether it finds its way to your heart or stops somewhere before, it will cut off circulation to whatever lies beyond it. If you want to play at being Rem, then why don't you finish the act and die like she did."

And then his face was gone.

She didn't dare move a muscle, scarcely breathing. The tickle was still there, maddening, and the void wasn't as dark as it had been. Tiny little lights played above her, in the distance, and she could hear indistinctly the sound of a woman's voice.

-x-

**Author's Notes: **I know many of you are waiting for the action to hit, so hopefully the end gave you a little of what you were looking for. I know it seems slow – it would probably seem faster if I hadn't waited a couple years, and I was a bit faster about it. Sorry about that. I plotted this before I got the hang of long fics, so unfortunately we have a bit of a lull. Doing my best to get us through it as quickly as I can.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**NOTE**: This is a two part chapter.

-x-

Knives lowered his chin, took a deep breath, and relaxed into a measured exhale.

Unfortunately, not every physical trick worked quite the same in one's mindscape.

Normally he would feel the additional oxygen almost immediately. It would clear his mind, calm his thoughts, and free him to focus on complex problems. Here, he technically wasn't actually breathing at all. If he had tried he would have only succeeded in losing whatever air was left in his lungs. He was standing in space, after all.

Secondly, and far more irritatingly, there wasn't much to focus _on_. The object under scrutiny was clearly solid, in that it was opaque and he could physically interact with it. It had countless facets, he could feel each one with his fingertips though he could see none of them. None of them reflected light, after all. It was like a large, hundred sided die of nothingness.

It was so heavy he couldn't lift it, yet it hovered weightless in the space in Vash's mind. The only way to see it was when it was blocking the light of the memories behind it. It was tethered to nothing, allowing one to manipulate any side to the top, but seemed fixed to a single three dimensional point in space.

It was the block.

Of that, he was certain. He could not penetrate it telepathically. He could not smash it, physically or telekinetically. He could not force it into a star or hurl it against anything he tried to manifest in Vash's mind. It was immune to light, to heat, to moisture, to cold. Even encasing it in ice had resulted in the ice no longer being reflective.

That was how Vash had managed to hide it. And that was how he was continuing to suppress his inner Gate. He had hidden it from himself.

And the combination to it, whatever it was, was something only Vash knew.

Knives glared at the universe around him. Countless memories. Tiny stars, flickering in all the light spectrums. He had checked many of the nearest, in the hopes that Vash would have left the key somewhere useful.

But of course his brother could never do anything the easy way.

The small blue star that flickered uncertainly. That was the first time Rem had cut his hair. She'd chosen Vash first because he was more delicate, it meant more to Vash than it did to him and Rem had known that.

Eighty degrees north of it was a larger orange star, that pulsed regularly. The first time she had come to Vash, when he awoke from the nightmare that had been finding their sister.

One hundred twelve degrees to the east. A green pinprick. The first time she had shown them the bridge.

She was everywhere. This universe of Vash's was soaked in her. Irrevocably contaminated.

Rem stared up at him, terror in her eyes, and in their reflection was a monster.

Knives turned away physically, rejecting the image with a single disgusted snort. Rem had never looked at him like that. It was just the spider. He _knew_ that. She'd put on the skin of Rem as protection, foolishly believing he would not cast her aside as he had cast aside Rem.

It was the past, and it needed to stay there. Right now he needed to focus.

Knives rotated effortlessly on his own axis, searching the endless expanse for any other clue. It had to be here. It _had_ to. Even his idiotic twin would never have created a mental block he could not deconstruct. Nothing in this universe was permanent. Nothing in this universe was untouchable.

_She _had proven that.

Despite himself, Knives cast a look back. His own mindscape was there, visible on the outskirts if he chose to look for it. Tiny particles of space dust gradually coalesced into twinkling bits of silicone and glass, gathered and solidified into the paved dirt that became the path to his mind. Vash floated through his own world and never had to touch down, but Knives would not let him be so carefree in his own mind.

There were no footprints on the path, though, perhaps because Vash didn't want to see them fade with the years. And there were no footprints to be seen on his own mind, not anymore. He had erased them all. Thick clouds of debris choked the wind, larger than before, they flew into his eyes and made them water. It was a reflection of damage.

The damage the spider had done.

The stones that had intertwined into his own mind's path - he knew what that silly road represented. A second bond. One he had not meant to forge. He had been open, had been inhibited, and the spider had taken what advantage she could.

He had a telepathic bond to a human.

Had being the operative word; he had smashed it, it was rubble now. Broken stones cast off into the ash and the sand and the dark. No longer could she prey upon his memories, no longer could she use his superior intellect to compensate for her lack. She would be dead within an hour, no longer a concern.

Rem had never looked at him like that.

Knives growled in frustration, completing his rotation and glaring into the depthless black of the block. _Curse_ that useless waste of time and carbon. He tried to quell his irritation with another breathing exercise, but it was as useless as the first, and he curbed the urge to summon a black hole to crush all of those stars into nothingness.

Vash probably wouldn't let him, and the only thing it would bring was a brief moment of spiteful satisfaction. He had to think longer term.

Taking Rem from Vash's memories would irretrievably change him. This universe would be a darker, colder place without those stars. Making Vash into someone else was never the point. Vash had to find that man and that truth on his own, or it was meaningless.

_Vash, take care of Knives._

"Do not mock me, woman!" he snarled into the void.

A red star twinkled at him.

Knives slammed his fist down atop the mental block, achieving nothing but a few skinned knuckles and a few choice words before reining back his temper.

Vash was the reason for this. For his discontent. Of course he had found a human with latent telepathic abilities. Of course he had kept her close. She would have reminded him of their sisters, their brethren. She would have given him the comfort that he lacked due to shunning his own kind. Inane enough not to be a threat. Of course he would have grown fond of her.

"Damn you," he growled. "You childish fool."

Vash didn't respond. He was doubtlessly clutching his knees to his chest, hiding behind one of his memories.

One of his memories of _her_.

Rem had looked absolutely horrified.

"She's not Rem," he hissed, at Vash, at the void. "Rem is dead, brother, don't you get it!?"

He hadn't wasted a moment on her since the ship. Certainly he'd been willing to keep the façade of her memory alive, so long as Vash needed it, but his sentimental brother had clung to it. Weakened by these humans.

Knives scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. It was the past! Why was it intruding upon his concentration now?

She used to pass her palm over the short hairs on the top of his head. She had said that it tickled.

Knives forced his hands into fists, forced himself to breathe. What had the spider done? He hadn't bothered to recall these memories for a hundred years. She had done something. In that stumbling, blind, brainless unerring way that Vash always did. She had clawed and crawled and felt her way through his mind until she had found something to manipulate. To weaken him.

As if a few memories of a ghost could weaken him.

Vash was the important one. Vash was the only one worthy of what these fools called love, even if only barely. Not Rem. Not anyone else.

_You are not capable of love._ The old man radiated disgust. _You want domination._

Cretin.

All this trouble. All this effort. As if he would do this for anyone else. Anything else.

Hadn't he said it on the pod? The planet was just for them. This was never going to end any other way. There was no other path for the humans to take. He wasn't wrong on this, just as he hadn't been with the spiders. He was right. He had been right.

And even accepting that, he had once again delayed the inevitable. He had allowed this ridiculous experiment to play itself out, with over a hundred years of history stretching past the horizon. He had kept his word, and it had led to this. There was nothing left for Vash to hold onto. Rem was dead. His pet humans would soon join her. They would all be dead. Just him and Vash and their sisters. Just Plants.

Eden.

And there was no room in Eden for flaws like Rem.

Even if one of those flaws had unintentionally given him the key to finding the mental block.

He crossed his arms and glowered at the darkness. Darker even than the space surrounding it. He thought of Vash's universe as a void, but the fact was, this block was encased in the real thing. It was outside of the realm of his telepathic powers. It was, in fact, probably a star. Perhaps the largest one. It was his Gate. And it was totally cut off.

It was the same color as the nothingness beneath his own mind's path. When he had torn away what the spider had constructed, he had seen rectangular blackness, a place totally devoid of all light. The same blackness he was staring at right now.

And staring at it wasn't getting him any further towards removing it. Or any closer to saving his worthless twin's life.

Knives withdrew, taking a deep breath and being vaguely relieved when he could actually feel it. His eyes opened to find that his brother's had not, which was not unexpected. The computer to his left was blinking steadily, dutifully recording Vash's vitals, and Wright was nowhere to be seen.

Of course. The old man.

As much as he might detest the concept, the old human was a genius. His combination of drug therapies, while unconventional, had correctly accounted for the Plantlike physiology they possessed. While he had intentionally removed the data related to his burn, the data he had left in the records showed what he had claimed – every attempt had been made to keep Vash alive.

And no other human alive had that breadth of knowledge. He had ensured that those that had assisted him had died long ago for their efforts.

_You . . . hurt me._ Rem's eyes were wide with disbelief.

"You killed yourself," he growled aloud, before he could stop himself.

_You lied to me._

"Giving up hope, are you? It's a bit early for that."

Knives let his eyes drift unblinkingly to the bent shape in the doorway.

"You lied to me."

-x-

Knives' head came up sharply, eyes piercing, and Doc took a moment to locate the next likely handhold. No matter how much it felt like he was going uphill, he knew the floor was quite level, and if he was anyone else he would have told himself to stay in bed for another several days.

However, he wasn't anyone else, and he knew he didn't have several days.

"You have an alternate power source," he elaborated, leaving the safety of the doorframe to lean heavily on a handy countertop. "I saw the equipment, my dear boy. You have a working bulb farm."

The Plant gave him a flat glare. "You are irritatingly meddlesome," he finally concluded. Doc gave him a wavy grin.

"Isn't that why you've chosen to keep me around?"

Knives' eyes flickered over him, taking stock, and Doc decided that taking a stool was the better part of valor. "I wish you had told me sooner," he continued blandly. "We could have avoided some unpleasantness."

The Plant looked supremely unimpressed. "Wright, remove that to the cells."

"Wouldn't you like to know why it's pertinent?"

"It isn't." Knives stood, moving from Vash's head to his preferred work console. He didn't sit, however, and his posture was much more tense than Doc remembered. Something had happened.

"What's wrong?" It was a little sharper than he intended. "Vash, is he-"

The weight of a hand, on the back of his neck.

"I've thought of something new," he blurted quickly, before the chemicals could cut him off. "Knives, we need to use the bulbs."

"Yes, yes of course." The Plant rounded on him, far more than just irritated. "Why is it that humans see a Plant and immediately think that it belongs in a bulb?"

Doc had the strong desire to keep his mouth shut, and he knew exactly where it was coming from. It was still hard to get any strength behind his voice, and the furious man bearing down on him was not helping. "Fron was able to heal you because your Gate was still functional."

Quick strides had brought the long-legged Knives within range, and Doc was bodily hauled from the young mutant's grasp by his collar. The shirt tore, but the sound was muffled somewhat by the crash of equipment clattering to the floor.

"We exposed Vash to energy and expected him to absorb it," Doc continued, as evenly as he could with his smarting back. He didn't have to be loud; Knives was only inches away. The Plant was clearly in a highly agitated state, and there was less clarity in his glare than Doc would have liked. "We assumed that the path for that energy flowing into cells was bi-directional. If it could flow out, it could flow in. That was incorrect."

Knives' lips curled, but his half-formed words died on his tongue. Good. Information was still sinking in, even with him in this state. "There's an extra structure in his cells – in yours too, I am certain. That organelle is what consumes and converts the energy produced by the Gate. And it's shut down." He took a moment to swallow the saliva gathering in his constricted throat. "It's not enough to make the needed energy available. The inroad to the cell is gone. You'll have to make a new path."

The Plant's eyes flashed with rage, a totally unexpected response to what Doc considered to be good news. The muscles on his jaw shifted, chewing on his words, and when they finally emerged, they were unnaturally calm and totally at odds with his expression.

"An astute observation. Particularly for one so old and frail. Tell me, did it come to you in a dream?"

There was too much adrenaline in his system to be any more surprised, but the fear the young mutant had left him with made it hard not to stutter. "Your Gung Ho Guns came for me in my dreams. Dreams have a habit of presenting reality through unexpected lenses."

Knives stared at him a moment, and then he began to laugh.

There was a disheartening lack of sanity in it.

The Plant continued to laugh, releasing him almost politely. He had been dragged up onto the counter and Doc decided to remain there, still experiencing the effects of his false fear and hating the idea that he was sitting on the counter like a child.

Something had happened. Something Knives did not like at all. Something that had shaken the focus that had been driving his relatively logical approach to his situation. There was no hope of predicting a Knives that was behaving like this. Even the young mutant was no longer visible, either having fled the room or unconsciously masking himself to so as to avoid giving offense.

This did not bode well for any of them.

"I am sure my dear brother would agree with you," he chortled. And then the laughter evaporated, leaving chilled air in its place. "His dreams of late have been the same."

It was hard to steady his diaphragm. "We're both in pain."

Get him thinking about Vash again. Get him focused on the cure.

"You don't know what pain _is_," he hissed, then his head snapped back as if fending off an insect. "What you experience is _nothing_ compared to what you put him through!"

Doc wasn't sure how to respond to that. He had tried to treat Vash's pain, or was Knives referring to keeping Vash alive?

Knives had straightened, head up and eyes narrow, and he took a sharp breath through his nose. "He is hopelessly contaminated! Weakened! He cannot see his true potential for the lies –" Knives cut himself off, turning away sharply, and then he shouted in frustration. "_DAMN YOU_!" he roared, and an unseen hand hurled the nearest autoclave across the lab, where it shattered against the wall so violently Doc had to raise his good arm to shield himself from shrapnel.

He wasn't untouched, and neither was Knives. The Plant glanced at his own arm, his right arm, where a small tear in his bodysuit exposed tanned flesh. Only for a moment; in the next instant it was red again, as red as the material around it.

"It will stop hurting," the Plant muttered to himself. "If you stop fighting." Knives turned further to his right, eyes focused on something Doc couldn't see. "If you stop fighting . . ."

Knives spun on his heels, ignoring him utterly and his long strides made quick work of his distance to his console. Multiple screens came to life, and Doc didn't dare leave his perch on the countertop, content to watch from nearly the other end of the lab. He hadn't been wrong – he knew he hadn't, but somehow the affirmation was reassuring – when several screens showed bulb angles and, more importantly, capacity. The two idle bulbs were in fact currently occupied, and Knives bowed his head a moment, closing his eyes.

Though he touched no key, the bulbs' output began to increase.

Vash had _never_ displayed that kind of telepathic control with any Plant. He knew that Vash had the ability to contact his sisters, he had the footage of Vash's attempt to save the Plant that was destroyed during the attack on his ship, but Vash had had eye contact, had been inches away. Knives had no direct contact with these bulbs, not even line of sight, and the response had only taken seconds.

It wasn't the first time he had asked one of his sisters to work for him.

Knives straightened abruptly, sending his stool spinning away, and headed unerringly for the counter Doc was sitting on. For a moment he thought he would be tossed aside like the autoclave, but Knives moved past him with only an irritated glance. "Make yourself useful," he snapped, and then he had disappeared into the second lab.

Doc obediently shimmied off the counter, almost falling when his knees gave. Useful . . . to try his experiment. Of course.

That meant getting to the other side of this lab, and working with the repurposed diagnostic equipment. He needed to get a view of Vash's cells, and figure out where to build that new road.

And there was nothing but empty space between his counter and that wall.

The young man appeared quite suddenly, directly by his side, gripping his upper right stump – but not painfully. Doc looked up at him, still surprised and trembling from the adrenaline, but there was no finger against his bared skin. It was meant as support.

"Thank you," he managed, in as dignified a tone as he could muster, and the two crossed the room a bit more rapidly than he would have liked. He understood the reason for their hurrying when Knives reappeared, a moment later, with the man-sized rehabilitation tube. It followed him like a puppy as he crossed back into the main lab, and Doc took his seat at the console and brought it up.

Luckily for him, it was easy to find the wireless connection to the equipment Knives was activating, and when everything was queued he turned to receive his next instructions.

The tube contained a thin polymer slab that fully extended, like those found in a mortuary, and it was upon this bed that Knives was carefully arranging his brother. Though he had seen some of it before, Doc was shocked at how much of Vash's muscle mass had disappeared. Back on the New Kennedy, with his Gate unstable and his misguided attempts to heal himself, he had deconstructed part of his body to build that scar tissue. But seeing him completely exposed once again only brought home how much weight he had lost, and what damage was continuing while he fought for his life.

Knives did not seem overly troubled by his brother's appearance, but of course he had had days to study the injuries wrought. Perhaps that was what had led to the comments of not understanding his pain. The only human sensation he could find to compare it to was 'hunger' and that was, as Knives said, likely insignificant in comparison.

But Vash was deep in a coma, one he had self initiated. Perhaps it gave him some buffer.

With the touch of a button, Vash slid into the tube, and it began to fill with a transparent, slightly green liquid. There was no breathing apparatus that Doc could see, but Knives did not make any motion to correct that as the liquid rose to a level that covered Vash's face. Once the tube was completely filled, it rotated ninety degrees, so that Vash was floating comfortably upright.

Behind Doc, his console beeped to indicate the equipment was ready.

He turned back to the screens, evaluating the offered options. This was quite clearly the equipment that Knives had used during his treatment of himself, from wounds acquired in July. It would have allowed him to reassemble his lost mass cell by cell, and it was doubtlessly fed by a bulb.

Fron. And Knives had said he had a record of the resonance of the energy used to do it.

But in this case, they didn't want to rebuild cells. They wanted to inject that energy directly into the organelle that could convert it. They needed a grid of his cells, and some type of algorithm to ensure that each cell was treated.

Doc hesitated. "Knives . . . I do not know what Vash will experience during this test."

Nothing about forcing an organelle to accept energy after it had been starved of it sounded like it was going to be comfortable. Once the organelles were open again, they might be able to use the previous technique of soaking Vash in the correct energy to keep him alive, but the initial dose was very likely going to be interpreted by his body as damage.

"It will be agony." Knives' voice was curiously devoid of emotion. "But nothing worse than he has already put himself through."

There wasn't much to say to that, so Doc turned back to his console and completed a high resolution scan, building the grid. A small screen appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of his, with lines of code zipping by, and though the text was small and Doc's eyes were not what they used to be, he could tell it was the treatment program. Knives was creating it faster than he could even read it.

Almost as fast as Millie Thompson had been writing hers.

Doc nearly swore. Once again, they had managed to chase the young woman from his mind. This technology could be used to repair her brain. Knives was right, the memories would be gone, but her life would be spared. The Plants Knives had asked for help were putting out more than enough energy for this experiment, and it was being stored in auxiliary batteries. It would be enough.

Perhaps asking permission was not the correct tactic. Perhaps he should ask forgiveness instead. This treatment of Vash would not take long, they would see immediate results or immediate failure. Knives would remove Vash from the tube for the time being either way, and if they still lived he could use Miss Thompson's friends to carry her.

Doc remained silent, and waited patiently for his grid to complete.

A brief flash from the small screen, and then it closed. A new menu option appeared at the top left, and Doc selected it. It was a surprisingly simple routine. It was a series of direct exposures to a specific frequency of Plant energy, designed to arc directly through his body. Each one was carefully metered to ensure that collectively, every cell in his body would be pierced.

It would instantly kill any human. Doc could see that immediately. And Vash, without an active Gate, was very nearly human.

Rather than directly question him, Doc rotated on the stool, and was immediately glad of his hesitation. Knives was standing beside the tube, both of his hands and his forehead resting on the glass. Outside of the hair and the bodysuit, it was the spitting image of Vash, pleading with the Plant inside the bulb. Not a muscle moved but his eyelids; they slid open, his eyes unseeing. Then his adam's apple bobbed.

"You may begin."

-x-

"Not so tight, Knives!"

Vash peered around Rem's thigh. They were all walking hand in hand down the corridor, Rem's warm and sure in his. She had Knives by the hand as well, and his brother's expression was one of worry and doubt.

Vash immediately felt less confident. If Knives was scared, then he probably should be too . . .

"Not you too, Vash," Rem chided, and then pulled them both off to the side, only a few steps away from the door. The door that led to a place they had never been.

The door that led to the rest of the crew.

Rem knelt between them, dragging their hands forward so that they were both standing in front of her, still holding on tight. "What's the matter with you two?" she asked, her voice kind. "I thought you wanted to see the cold sleep chamber."

Vash hesitated, and beside him, his brother fidgeted.

Rem's smile grew wider. "Don't tell me you two are afraid."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Knives declared, but his voice was small. "Cold sleep tubes don't hurt. The crew inside of them is asleep."

"That's right," Rem agreed, and then she raised her hand a little and shook it, as if she wanted it back. Knives did not release it.

"So why do you look so worried?"

Vash stared at her knee, which had a funny flat place when she was crouched down in front of them like this. He looked down at his own knee, visible beneath his sky blue shorts, but it was much smaller and knobbier and pointier than hers.

There was a musical laugh, and it made Vash feel suddenly ashamed. "Don't make fun of us!" he whined. "It's just –"

"What if they know we're there?" Knives' voice was positively tiny.

"Oh." Rem's voice was thoughtful, and Vash glanced back up at her. She looked very serious, and was nodding. "I see."

When she didn't say anything else, he exchanged a quick look with his brother. Knives was clinging to Rem's hand so hard his knuckles were white.

What if the crew didn't like them.

They knew Steve didn't. But Joey, Mary, and Rowan seemed to like them. There were a lot of people in cold sleep, and a lot of ships. So if one in five crew members didn't like them . . . that was thousands of people.

Thousands of people who might say what Steve said. That if he had his way, they would be locked in cold sleep tubes until they rotted.

Knives had told him last night that wasn't true. They'd looked in the database, and learned all about cold sleep tubes. They were powered by the ship, and they put people in total stasis. Their cells weren't functioning at a very high level, so they were fine for decades or even a hundred years.

Rem would never let them do it anyway. Vash gripped her hand tighter.

"You know, I go and talk to them all the time," Rem confided seriously. "They already know all about you."

Beside him, he heard his brother gasp.

"I tell them everything," Rem continued earnestly. "I tell them about all the things that happen during the day, like how Mary accidentally flooded the galley-"

Vash couldn't help a nervous giggle at the memory. She had looked so surprised, and there was water everywhere –

"-and how you almost turned off the auxiliary navigation system trying to figure out how the telemetry worked," she continued, and shook Knives' hand in her own, "and how _you_ –" and then she wiggled his, "-went five whole nights without having an accident!"

"Reeeeem!" That was really embarrassing!

She laughed, her eyes like tiny smiles on her face. "But they're happy for you both! They think it's really neat that you two are growing up so fast!"

"But they can't hear you, Rem." Knives sounded puzzled. "They're not awake. We read it in the database."

"Mm-hmm," she agreed. "But you can still hear things when you're not awake."

Vash looked up. "That's right!" He turned to his brother. "Remember when Rem was singing to us during naps, and you were dreaming, and in your dream the buffalo was singing?"

Knives didn't look convinced. "That's because of the state of sleep my brain was in," he protested, but without heat. "Their brainwaves indicate they're much deeper than that."

"Just because they're sleeping more deeply doesn't mean they can't hear," Rem insisted. "When we find a new planet and wake them all up, I bet you many of them will remember what I've told them. Won't that be fun to find out?"

"Like an experiment?" Knives was warming up to the idea slightly.

"Like an experiment," Rem confirmed. "So you don't need to be afraid."

Knives hesitated, then slowly nodded. His knuckles were still white.

"You don't have to hold on so hard," Vash whispered to his brother. "Rem's not going to let go."

"I know." It was a little defensive, but then Knives looked away. He hadn't relaxed.

Vash bit his lip, and then held up Rem's hand in front of his brother. "See? Like this." And he forced himself to relax his grip, just a little. Even though he didn't really want to either. He had to hang on tight, because what if the cold sleep people didn't like them? But, Rem would still be holding onto him. He could hold her hand without crushing her fingers. It wasn't like she was going to slip away and leave them.

It was okay to relax . . . just a little.

Knives looked uncertain, but then he too, slowly relaxed his fingers. Just a little. He still had a good grip, but Rem smiled, apparently relieved they weren't squashing her fingers anymore.

"Okay! Are you ready?" she asked them brightly.

The brothers looked at one another, then nodded, and she straightened, leading them towards the door. And as much as he wanted to tighten up again, Vash forced his fingers to relax. Just a little.

The door at the end of the corridor opened, and brilliant blue light shot out, straight at his forehead. He grabbed for Rem's hand, but it was gone. There was nothing but the light.

And pain.

-x-

**Author's Notes: Please see next chapter.**


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end. This is a direct continuance of the last chapter.

**Content Warning**: Mild tearjerk warning.

-x-

Knives withdrew before the full effect had set in, watching through the glass as the prescribed energy crackled through the conducting liquid and into Vash's body. It was a series of eight shocks, tightening his muscles on the molecular level. Each one resulted in a short seizure, interrupted by the next.

An astonishingly simple process. He should have realized it.

His brother was totally helpless. He could not wake. He could not shield. He could not use the most rudimentary telepathic power.

When he himself had been inhibited in that room, with his own telepathy fading, the spider had had unheralded access. He had reached out to its mind to leave commands, but that road had been two way. On its own, the human did not have enough mental talent to realize she had spent her entire life blindingly groping at other minds. But by extending his own thoughts into her mind, he had unthinkingly allowed feedback back in.

And without a way to shield, to filter, he had been helpless to stop the incursion. One that the human garbage would not have had the presence of mind to realize was occurring.

And with his shields down, she had stirred up the dust in his mind. That was all Rem was. Dust. A few shining particles of matter floating in the upper atmosphere, if not completely burned away long ago.

And even as nothing more than a ghost, she was a useful tool to encourage Vash to loosen his grip on his block.

Based on the agony beneath his forced grimace, Vash was finding the process highly unpleasant. If he would stop actively resisting the energy, if he would just loosen his grip on his own damned Gate, it wouldn't hurt. This pain was his own doing, and Knives refused to feel sympathy as the final shock was administered, leaving Vash's body twitching the last of the excess energy away.

He didn't need the alarms on the equipment to tell him that Vash had survived. Much as he wanted to be a human, he wasn't. Perhaps the point was finally driven home.

Perhaps he would remember the nightmares when he woke. Perhaps the old man was right, Vash's dreams were nothing more than a warped reflection of reality.

He could only hope he'd removed the warp.

". . . Knives . . ."

He turned at the voice, surprised to see the old man watching him. He had expected the human to be reliant upon his screens and his machinery. His old eyes had long since begun their deterioration. It was more than irritating that he seemed to have such clarity of thought.

The old man was apparently waiting for something. "Was it successful?"

Was it successful indeed. Surviving the process didn't mean they'd managed to actually force his cells to accept the surrogate energy.

A brief scan of Vash's mind showed no attempt to shield. He left his brother, still trembling in the serum, and studied his own console. Cellular activity was off the chart, but of course it was too soon for it to have normalized from the exposure. They wouldn't know for several hours.

Perhaps that was why the old man asked him, instead of asking the computer.

Damn that man.

Damn him for finding the way when that spider had all but handed it to him. And damn her for what she had done to his mind.

If you stop fighting, it will stop hurting. He had told her that, unable to break her shields. Shields that should have been as weak as his own. Shields that should have been inhibited. How was it possible she had overcome him?

It occurred to him, belatedly, that studying her brain after the fact would be pointless. The level of damage to the organ was catastrophic.

And like Vash, it was her own doing.

It was her own doing.

Knives increased the sensitivity of the logs, returning to the tube to observe his brother. Vash was breathing the serum, his unconscious mind winning the fight against reflex and the fear of drowning. The convulsions had all but stopped, and he was as stable inside the tube as out. Another round might be necessary, once they had results to compare the data against, and Knives saw no reason to remove him.

Let everyone see what his dream had done to him. Let him be on display, in that pathetic body, for all to see. It might be worth parading his pet humans through, just so they could not longer pretend they had not caused this.

Knives glanced over his shoulder at the old man, who had eyes only for his brother. There were many expressions on his face, but the overriding one was the same one he had tried unsuccessfully to wipe from his brother, over and over again.

"Why do you continue to hope?"

The old human seemed surprised by the question. "Without hope, what is life?" he asked, as if rhetorically.

"When my brother recovers, if indeed he does, he will finish what he began on the New Kennedy."

The old man tilted his head. "Perhaps," he allowed. "Vash has always been a man of his word. I am sure he will keep his despite your not holding up your end of the bargain."

Knives let his eyes flash, but it was without heat. His mind was strangely calm. "Have you forgotten the method of suicide you chose –"

"I did nothing you had not already done," the old man interrupted. "Vash kept his word to you, and look at him. Take a good look! Is saving her life going to take that same toll on you?"

A flawed conclusion, Vash's condition was a combination of a hundred years' worth of mistakes, driven by _her_. He was not going to save her.

He'd tried, once.

_Vash, take care of Knives!_

"She doesn't want to be saved." His calm was fading. "She chose her path."

But she . . . the spider, she hadn't chosen the humans. Not really.

_If you stop fighting, it will stop hurting!_

She had stopped fighting _him_. It had given her power, but she hadn't made that choice to take that power, she hadn't made that choice to save the humans.

She had tried to save all of them.

She was the same bundle of contradictions.

Knives found himself studying his brother. Floating there, his toes just brushing the bottom of the tube. He was in one piece. All his pieces fit inside of one tube. But it could have been her. It could have been their sister. His body was just as frail. He knew Vash was alive, but his body was so empty. His eyes, if they were open, would be so empty.

He might never see that blue again.

_I know it hurts, Knives. I'm sorry I hurt you._

If anything happens to you during the reactor project, I will wipe them out.

_I know._

If you betray me-

_I won't._

Vash, it will fail. You understand that, right?

_If we do nothing, we keep hurting. If you're so certain they're not going to change, then we have to._

But he was _right_, goddammit! He had been right! The humans had hold of him, and they did exactly what he'd said they would.

And what the old man, who had the same knowledge, had not.

What the spider, with her knowledge, had not.

She had seen. She _knew_. So why . . . why didn't she fight?

How could she love Vash, and love them too?

How could she?

"Millie Thompson would never choose to die." The old man's voice was far away, he ignored it. He turned on his heels and he headed for the elevator without a second thought. There wasn't time to hesitate. He had to know.

He had to know.

The suns were blinding as he exited on the surface. But he didn't need to see. He knew where she was. She hadn't moved. She couldn't. One of the others was there, beside her, but it didn't matter. She was easy enough to silence, easy enough to ignore.

She wasn't Rem.

He stopped only a few short yarz from her, he didn't need to be that close. When he closed his eyes, the cutting white light disappeared, and he could see the rectangular nothingness beneath the stones of his street. He knew where the path had been. It was easy to build across that gap, easier than it should have been. And he didn't have a choice, the path had to be bi-directional.

She needed to be able to answer. He had to know.

Knives came to the end of the bridge, and was confronted with the same brilliant light he had just escaped.

However, not all the suns were in the sky. Not even the sky was in the sky. All of the colors of Vash's Eden were in play, but they were swirled together without pattern. A piece of solar paneling was sticking out of the head of a young human boy, who did not appear to be upset about it. Part of a front door was winging through the air with a worm in its beak, and the breeze smelled of tea, cotton, and plastic.

He took a step forward, and the lawn gave way like incredibly soft, thick mud.

He was too late. The damage was too great. Her mind had already fallen apart.

He glared at the pudding-grass beneath his feet, forcing it into the same types of leaves from Vash's mind. The solar panel was easy to reassemble, and the pieces that were missing were easy to extrapolate. There should be the rest of the door, it would have the same whorl pattern. The red bricks, with their ceramic whites and yellows, made up the porch. The steam was from the teakettle. The fabric was clothes hanging out to dry in the suns. The gravel brown was shingles.

It was a house.

He put the sky back where it belonged, trying not to add too much of Vash's details. There were gaps he could not easily see the pattern to, so he left the void in the shape of another human child to run where it wished, even when that was directly into the side of the house.

He had to find _her_. He didn't want his mind's projection of her. Then he would never know.

The inside of the house was just as chaotic as the outside. A pair of legs, one furry, trotted in an endless circle around the top of a lampshade. There were many more human figures in the house, some recognizably a single person, others strange combinations of eyes and hands and a smile. Somewhere, one of them was humming tunelessly, but the sound seemed to be coming from inside a human chest that was hovering in front of a stove. The boiling pot was upside down.

There was enough left of a stairway for Knives to reconstruct it, and he followed it upwards. These rooms were in more disarray than the ground floor, with insulation functioning as the ceiling lights and the beams of the floor above the carpeting.

And all around him, a cacophony of noise. A sand steamer was docking, a room full of typewriters going full speed. Lots of soft shuffles, as if someone was in the room, quietly breathing. It was above even that that he caught a few strands of something familiar.

That song.

Rem used to sing that song.

It seemed to be coming from up, and Knives decided that what appeared to be an intact window on the slanted ceiling of a violently pink room was actually supposed to be there. He reached up, unhooked the latch, and pushed it open, before levering himself up through the hole.

He was on the roof, now, the shingles rough against his palm, and there was a green couch beside the window. There was no one on it.

Still, the song could be heard, slightly more clearly, and Knives looked with more than his eyes. He had grabbed her easily enough when the bond had still been there, how was it so hard to find her now?

But he had done a lot more damage in the intervening time. Too much.

"Rem!" She was still here. This world wouldn't exist if she wasn't. "Where are you!"

The song stopped, as if the singer had been momentarily interrupted, but after a moment it started up again. It was very faint.

"Rem!"

"Go away!" It was muffled and childlike, and it came directly from the sofa.

Knives stared at the piece of furniture a moment, then he circled it, paying close attention to the steep pitch of the roof.

Bloodshot eyes glared at him from behind a mass of hair, and she hugged her knees closer to her chest. Her hands were twisted together, clutching herself as tightly as possible.

He almost felt relief. She was still here.

_You hurt me._

"You hurt yourself," he snapped, before he could catch himself. "Why? Why did you do that?"

Her eyes narrowed a little, apparently in contemplation. "Because I had to," she said simply.

He crouched down in front of her, studying her. She was literally holding herself together; he watched the breeze take a bit of the white fabric of her shirt and the moment it left the rest it tuned into half a teacup and shattered on the shingles.

"Why?" _Why did you let me in?_

Her eyes closed, and he saw the lines of weariness etched permanently into her pale skin. "If . . . if I show you . . . then can I say goodbye?"

He studied her, not understanding, and she loosened the death grip she had on her wrist, and haltingly held out her hand.

-x-

It was just like it was with the thomas calf.

Meryl kept rubbing her hand, she didn't know what else to do. It had long gone cold. She could still feel a pulse, but not much of one, not on this side. Shock, Doc had said she'd fall into shock and there was nothing they could do, but –

But she just couldn't sit here and listen to Millie cry.

"So . . . on the fifth night, those shards strike the face of the earth over and over . . ."

Half of Millie's face screwed up and she moaned inarticulately. It didn't even sound human.

"Sound life," Meryl managed, almost in a whisper.

At first she'd tried to go and get help, but not even the strokes could smother Millie's terror at finding herself alone. The fog was long gone, it was late afternoon and the shade was now pleasantly cool. Shouting for help had only served to frighten Millie more, and talking to her seemed to help, but eventually there weren't any other ways to say she was sorry.

So she did what she had done for the thomas calf, while they waited for her father to come back. She did what her grandmother did for her, when she was young and sick and scared.

And Millie couldn't really complain about her tone deafness. It was that same grandmother who had told her one morning that the only way she could carry a tune was in a bucket. Maybe those moans weren't Millie's attempt to sing along. Maybe it really was a cry of pain.

Meryl smiled tremulously at her friend's dilated eye. "So . . .," she crooned, "On the sixth night, those signals bring travelers together."

Millie let out a keening grunt where "sound life" would fit into the song.

Those signals that had brought travelers together. Millie's disappearance. Vash's disappearance. Wolfwood's lighter. The ship. They were the pebble's children. The ones who had never fallen from the sky.

She wished she had never snapped at Millie. She wouldn't have mailed the letter that night, they would have gotten on a sandsteamer and –

And Vash would still have been on that ship. Nothing would have stopped this.

"So . . . on the seventh night, a weightless ship races to the sky . . . "

She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was making singing damn hard. Doc's weightless ship had done the reverse. And since they'd taken the New Kennedy's Plant, it was never going to race to the sky again.

The only thing headed for the sky was her partner. Her friend. Her sister.

Meryl closed her eyes, blinking out the tears, and took a deep breath. Millie missed her cue.

"So . . ." It shook, and Meryl refused to open her eyes. "On the eighth morning, a song from-"

"-sssomewhere reaches my ears . . ."

Meryl left her eyes closed, but she laughed, and it somehow came out like a sob.

"The last time you sang, sempai, was . . ." It trailed off, sleepy and a little slurred. "When we were celebrating at the bar."

When the first of the new power generators had turned on for the first time.

"You made me," she pointed out, then laughed again. She was hysterical, obviously, if she was hearing voices, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to break the spell. To open her eyes and see the truth. It was nicer to think Millie was talking back. "That was a good night."

That was the first time they'd dared to hope the twins' compromise could actually work.

"There were lots of good nights," Millie corrected. "Beautiful sunsets – oh, I hope the hotel hung onto your luggage! The cross stitch you were doing!"

Meryl couldn't help herself. Her eyes flew open to stare down at Millie in consternation. "Of all the things to –"

But the words died on her lips.

-x-

Meryl had been crying.

The woman stared down at her, her grey eyes shocked and waterlogged and heartbroken, and Millie tried for a smile. In answer, the older girl dropped her hand to rub her eyes, hard enough to rub them out of her skull entirely.

Millie reached up, it was harder than it should have been and her arm felt like it was at least twice as heavy as the boulder at the bottom of the well, and she grabbed Meryl's right wrist, stopping her.

"Don't cry, sempai." She tried to smile again, so big that it would split her face. "It doesn't hurt."

She'd always wondered why Mr. Vash and Mr. Nicholas had smiled like that. Now she knew she'd been right.

Meryl tried halfheartedly to pull her wrist away, and Millie tried not to look hurt. But Meryl didn't mean it; a second later, her hand was trapped between Meryl's, and the other girl was only a few inches from her face.

"Millie?" It cracked. "Millie?"

"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it. "Really, sempai, I am. I know you don't want to be alone and Mr. Knives doesn't trust you yet and Mr. Vash hasn't woken up yet, but he will, he really will, and-"

"Millie, you're babbling." Meryl's voice was all business, and she reached down and gently shifted a lock of hair off her forehead. "How do you feel? Do you feel okay? Is it tingly anywhere?"

Goodbyes were always really hard. She hated them.

"It doesn't hurt," she repeated. "Sempai, tell my family what happened, okay? If they don't hear from me they'll worry."

"Tell them yourself." The grip on her hand was much stronger than before. Much as she might pretend otherwise, she knew what was happening. Millie swallowed back her tears and kept smiling.

"And don't you forget, Miss Meryl Stryfe, that you're the best partner a girl could have wished for!"

"Stop it!" Of course she sounded cross, it was the same tone she used when she wanted but didn't want to hear what was in Mr. Vash's letters. "Stop it, Millie, you're going to be okay-"

"Keep an eye on Mr. Vash and Mr. Knives."

"Don't, Millie. Just don't-"

"And tell Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Carter and Doc that I said hi." Why weren't they here? Confused, Millie craned up, trying to look around Meryl's head – and she gasped.

His smile was warmer than the suns, she hadn't realized how cold she was until she saw it. "Hey, Tall Girl."

She was speechless. She couldn't even form a sentence, her lips just wouldn't work, and his easy grin widened. "Whoa, way to make a guy feel like a hundred double dollars. Don't tell me your _hand_ is going to leap from your throat again?"

And then he reached past Meryl's shoulder, and offered her his hand.

Millie blinked at him a moment, then hesitantly reached out. His grip was calloused but gentle, he pulled her to her feet effortlessly.

"Sorry for making you wait."

Millie swallowed hard, then threw her arms around his neck, and breathed in deeply the scents of cigarettes and bourbon. "Mr. Priest," she whispered.

His voice rumbled up through his chest, a low laugh, and his arms came up around her waist, holding her close. Just like he had that night.

"Come on, big girl. Got something to show you."

-x-

The doors hissed open again, barely twenty minutes after they had closed, and Doc tried not to hope. It was too soon for any data to be back on Vash, and the way he had left, perhaps-

But the footsteps coming down the corridor didn't sound much like Knives.

Doc pushed the stool away from the equipment so he had more room to stand. He knew she wasn't capable of walking, was it perhaps one of the others carrying her? If so, Vash couldn't be removed from the tube instantly, they'd need someplace to put her and the gelfoam bed was the best option –

The shuffling footsteps did not seem to be in any hurry, and Doc hesitated, eyes straining down the dark corridor. There was a shape, it wasn't one of Knives' caretakers –

And Doc saw his mistake.

Knives stumbled into the main laboratory, holding his forefinger beneath his nose. His eyes were half open, badly glazed, and once he had made it into the light he moved his hand, as if confused by the blood on his white glove. It was running down his face, and down his neck from his ears –

He stumbled, landing hard on his knees, and after remaining perfectly balanced for a moment, he slowly pitched face first onto the floor.

He didn't move again.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: Hey, look! Something happened!

You should have noticed a direct quote from the prequel, Compromise, specifically where Vash and Knives agree to Vash's plan.

Also, I bounced back and forth between anime and manga, so to be clear – in the anime, Rem sang a song called "Sound Life" frequently (you can google for the lyrics), and it's apparently a song that Meryl's grandmother sang to her, and Kaite sang it at the end of the BDN arc. I know many of you were hoping for Millie to pull through, but that was not in the cards for her. I know some of you were hanging onto this fic just to find that out, and I wouldn't blame you for bailing, but we haven't quite seen the last of Millie Thompson.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Content Warning**: Tearjerk warning

-x-

"Alright."

She knew she was using her blue gown voice when Aaron's mouth curved up in a smile. It wasn't often she was browbeaten into submission, after all. The only who could do it with any degree of measurable success was Su-

She flinched at the thought, unwrapping her long arms from around her chest.

Was no one. No one but Aaron Carter, at any rate.

"Are you sure you're-"

"If you don't get some intel, you're going to drive yourself insane," he interrupted in a hoarse rumble from the floor. "If Knives wanted us dead, we'd be dead." His tone indicated what he thought of _that_. "I am worse than useless. And they can take me for leverage whenever they want. Go."

She hated that he was right.

There was nothing saying those screams hadn't just been her imagination. He hadn't heard them. She hadn't wanted to. Meryl Stryfe had left _them_ when Aaron had needed help. She'd known splitting up was a poor decision. Stryfe calling pathetically for help could not have made a more obvious lure, and she was loathe to take such a stupid risk. But that had been hours ago. It was late afternoon, by the look of the suns, and no noon meal had been laid out before them. No sign of their invisible caretakers.

Had her stunt last night bought them more freedom than she knew . . . ? Or were they actually busy torturing Stryfe?

Elizabeth Boulaise gave him another long, arching look, which he very stoically did not open his opens to receive, and gave the room a glare – just in case.

"I will return in half an hour. No later."

"I won't wait up."

His blasé attitude was somehow reassuring, and she set her posture for confidence and moved towards the automated door. As before, it slid open just before she would have collided with it, and she raised an elegant hand, shielding her eyes from the glare.

Nothing happened.

Not that it would have, so close to Carter. The object was to split them up, after all.

If there was an object.

She chose not to look back, in case Aaron was actually watching, and instead assessed the ground at her feet. She was skilled at tracking in sand, which was highly impressionable and didn't remain still long, and on limestone bedrock, which had exactly the opposite problem. Using something like _grass_, which stayed put, with its soft flesh so easy to mar, it was a tracker's dream. The last person to leave their lodgings had gone left.

The valley was large, as large as some of the crash sites she'd seen, and the walls were steep. Carter had given her a general lay of the land as he'd scouted it from the windows. They were about halfway up a gentle slope that probably ended quite high and quite sharp. He hadn't been wrong about that. The lowest parts of the valley were completely covered with dense vegetation, trees and smaller plants. Her only chance of cover.

There were structures smaller than theirs, made of the same light, smooth concrete, all across the mid plane of the valley. They weren't at uniform distances, but there did seem to be a pattern to them, the bleached bones of a bent spine that had once been strong and straight. And there was another building, much like their own but two stories.

She had never seen this much of Eden. Her exposures, as brief as they had been, had been on the inside of that two story white structure, and on some other approach up the valley that Vash preferred to the road Carter had picked out.

What had not been visible from the windows, nor any of her trips, was something she was going to call Knives' palace until she learned its proper name. The mansion was enormous. There was simply no way Knives had built it himself. It was tall and regal, the outerwork stone and brick, and the slate roof didn't appear to be indigenous rock. It was three stories aboveground and god only knew how far under them it went. It could have held eighty bedrooms.

Or eighty Plants.

There were no floating, glowing beings in the windows or the trees, nor any grass moving when it should not be, and so she decided to pretend the trail was Stryfe's. Elizabeth stuck to the parted grasses until the damage ceased, and she determined that the last person must then have moved to shorter grass. Not nearly as obvious, and it showed more wear as well. More than one person had come this way. It wasn't impossible to track, but it wouldn't be easy. Damn. The majority of the foot traffic led generally in the direction of Knives' palace, but she found it hard to believe their invisible guards stayed there. Perhaps it was the only kitchen on the grounds?

The perpetual breeze drifted by, with its thousands of whispers of leaves on leaves, and a higher pitched tone floated along with it.

Elizabeth paused, listening, but it didn't repeat. She glanced back down into the valley, and a dot of bright crimson leapt out among the greens and yellows. She ducked into the tall grass before she even thought about it. Knives gave no indication that he had seen her; she wasn't sure about his point of origin, but he was cutting a straight line for the trees.

She wasn't violating his rules by being outside. She was well within half a mile, there was no reason to be afraid.

But instinct told her to remain hidden. He was thirty yarz away, and she was silently thankful that the wind was moving from him to her, otherwise she was sure he could have smelled her. She'd half expected him to be heading to his mansion, it was the only visible building in that direction, but his purposeful strides were taking him instead deeper into the valley, where he stopped several yarz from one of the larger trees, apparently looking for something.

His sisters. The Plants really were in that forest somewhere.

For a long moment Elizabeth just watched. Knives was out, there was no reason she could not approach him. He had spoken to her civilly, even if he had allowed his manservants to toy with them. He'd always treated her like a second class citizen, and to this point she'd tolerated it. It was likely he would continue that charade as long as it entertained him.

There was no doubt in her mind he was amused by what she had done last night.

The breeze came by, brushing the grasses and giving her a perfect view of a completely still Knives. He had not moved from his spot.

And she wasn't going to figure out what he was doing from here.

Elizabeth hesitated a moment more, and, without artificial fear coursing through her veins, it made sense to keep going. She'd wanted information, after all, and she wasn't going to get it without asking. She might expect their 'entertainment directors' to use Stryfe as bait, but not Knives. He didn't have time for these sorts of games. Not if Vash was still-

There was no telling what Vash was still.

The engineer waiting patiently for the breeze to sweep through again, using the natural movements of the grasses to mask her advance. She was careful to make it look casual, as if she was merely picking her way carefully over soft and uneven ground.

The last thing she wanted was her approach to be misconstrued as an attack.

Yet he never looked up. In fact, from here it appeared as if his eyes were closed. If she had a gun, he would have been an easy target. He stood straight, his balance perfect and his body angled against the movement of the air, and simply stood.

Perhaps he was calling for his sisters using something other than his voice. In which case he already knew she was there, and simply didn't care.

The higher tone drifted towards them again. A woman's voice, soft and not terribly on key, and Elizabeth followed Knives' lidded gaze, in the direction of the forest again. That didn't sound like a Plant vocalization . . . it sounded like -

A blob of grey, under one of the largest trees. Hard to make out, with the branches waving and dancing, but definitely grey.

Stryfe.

Knives was facing Meryl Stryfe.

She was sitting under a tree _singing?_ While Aaron was too weak to move? What the hell did the woman think she was playing at?

Had she found Millie . . . ?

Elizabeth edged closer still, almost forgetting to pick, and she realized that Meryl _wasn't_ alone. She was singing to someone else. Pale legs and a white shirt were visible, just, in front of her. Millie Thompson was also still wearing what she'd left the New Kennedy in.

A stronger gust than the others swept higher across the valley's rim, and the whisper of leaves turned to a rush of sound. There was something more golden than green there, not as bright as sunlight on the leaves, but clearly not bark-

Elizabeth's eyes widened.

There was a Plant in the tree, just above them.

Once she saw one, it was easy to pick out more. Four or five of them were within yarz of Stryfe's position. Knives was staring, with his closed eyes, at _them_.

_"You will surrender all weapons, including chemicals, prior to crossing the border into Eden. Once you have arrived, you may not attempt to leave. You will remain in the designated area. You will not interfere. You will not interact with any citizen of Eden."_

Meryl was singing. And the Plants were listening.

She'd just broken one of Knives' rules.

Elizabeth froze again. Stryfe was likely completely oblivious. There was no way she would sit so calmly with live Plants hanging out in the tree literally over her head. Even with them appearing to be in an inactive state, without giving off energy in the visible spectrum, her exposure to Plant radiation was definitely not within government regulatory statute.

Then again, tipping her off was likely to create an explosion of its own. She glanced towards Knives again, but he had not moved a muscle.

Was he trying to control them?

The Plants were mostly hidden, as soon as the wind died down they were invisible. They had attached themselves to the trunk of the tree, probably for support, and there were far too many leaves to see them. Perhaps it was just a matter of getting Stryfe out of there before whatever Knives was trying to do worked.

Or that would simply get her involved with breaking the rules.

Meryl sang another line, and there was a curious grunt, hardy audible.

Millie Thompson was worse off than Carter. Far worse.

She was the only reason they had ever gotten off the New Kennedy alive. Any of them. Not that she expected that to mean anything to Knives, but –

But she wasn't just going to stand there and do nothing. They all owed Thompson.

Elizabeth diverted her path from Knives towards the tree, trying to make just enough noise to be noticed. Stryfe sang another line of the song.

Millie didn't respond, this time.

And Knives didn't move.

Elizabeth was within ten yarz of them both when Meryl managed to croak out the last line – and Thompson's voice joined hers.

The engineer stopped dead in her tracks. That wasn't possible. Yet Millie's voice continued, the words too soft to make out.

Elizabeth glanced up the tree, at the Plants. From here she could look up beneath the spreading umbrella of branches, and they were readily visible. None of them were looking towards Knives. They were all staring down at the humans below, like curious children clinging to their branches. There was no hint of expression on their pale faces.

"Of all the things to-"

Stryfe stilled, then covered her face, and Millie raised her arm stiffly. She was speaking, but it was still too soft, and Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to move.

Millie Thompson shouldn't have been talking.

Were the Plants compensating for the strokes, as Knives had done?

She glanced back at him, but he appeared oblivious of her presence.

"Millie, you're babbling." Stryfe's tone was brusque.

"It doesn't hurt." Millie stopped to take a breath. "Sempai, tell my family what happened, okay? If they don't hear from me they'll worry."

"Tell them yourself." It was almost brittle.

"And don't you forget, Miss Meryl Stryfe, that you're the best partner a girl could have wished for!" Even lying flat on her back, Elizabeth could hear the smile in Thompson's voice. The happy quality she put effort into projecting, that this was all okay.

"Stop it! Stop it, Millie, you're going to be okay-"

"Keep an eye on Mr. Vash and Mr. Knives." Her voice never wavered.

"Don't, Millie. Just don't-"

"And tell Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Carter and Doc that I said hi . . ."

Thompson's back arched, lifting her off the ground, and then she gasped in a ragged breath. Even from ten yarz the engineer could see the expression of shock on her face. She was looking over Meryl's shoulder, right at Knives. Her mouth moved again, but she said nothing, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Her hand partially reached up, grasping at the air in front of Stryfe. Then she collapsed, as if someone had tripped over the extension cable and yanked it from the socket.

Elizabeth stood there, shocked, and then looked towards Knives.

He was moving.

He had turned away, his hand covering his mouth, and his back was to her, and hunched. Something dripped from his hand and his sure stride faltered. For a moment she thought he was going to fall, but he caught himself, and continued away without so much as a glance at her. Every three or four strides he would lurch a little, almost tottering before recovering.

He looked like a survivor walking away from a bulb explosion.

Had . . . Knives . . . ?

Stunned, she looked back towards the tree. Towards the Plants. They had moved, as well; there were four of them, they were clinging heads down, impossibly, with several sets of arms or legs wrapped around the trunk like insects. Their long hair masked their faces, and in the breeze it moved almost exactly like the leaves above them.

Meryl Stryfe let out a low wail, and bent over Thompson.

Elizabeth glanced back at Knives, but he was gone.

The Plants were moving down the tree towards the two.

Elizabeth hurried forward, and they responded to her approach by stopping their advance. That was good. They were waiting to see what would happen. What was going to happen now.

Hesitantly, she came to stand by Meryl's side, acutely aware that there was long blonde hair inches from her own. Meryl didn't react; she was clutching the arm that Millie had stretched out, holding her hand to her mouth. Millie was watching her expressionlessly, her right eye only half open.

This was the end of the woman that had been her constant companion for years.

"Meryl . . . " She put her hand – very gently – on Stryfe's shoulder. "Meryl, I'm sorry."

Stryfe sobbed – or maybe laughed. "She – she was l-looking for you-"

"And she saw you. She knew you were here. That's what matters."

Another half-laugh. "Apparently my s-singing is so bad it's . . . almost enough to w-wake someone from th-the d-d-"

Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder. "Did she say anything?"

The tiny woman still hadn't released Millie's hand, but she tugged Thompson's shirt down, straightening it. Making her look more proper. "She worried about us," Meryl whispered. "She was here all alone until the end, and s-she was worrying about us-s."

Elizabeth almost smiled. "That sounds like a very Millie thing to do."

"She smiled at me . . ." Meryl took a shuddering breath. "She smiled at me the same way Vash always did. She just . . . just knew."

There was nothing to say to that, and Meryl reverently laid Millie's hand on her stomach. Then she reached up, and hesitated. "Goodbye, Millie," she whispered, and extended trembling fingers that closed her eyes.

It made her look more peaceful. The sagging of her face was evening as her muscles relaxed, and Meryl tucked a lock of oily hair behind her ear.

"Go give that priest of yours what for me, okay?"

Elizabeth swallowed a lump in her throat, and glanced upward.

She was nearly nose to nose with one of the Plants.

"Meryl," she said calmly, "I think someone else wants to pay their respects. Is that okay?"

Beneath her hand, Meryl tensed, straightening the nightshirt again. "I-I'm sorry, if it's Aaron can he wait until I've – she wouldn't want everyone to see her like this –"

"No, it's not Aaron," the engineer interrupted, calmer still, and put enough pressure on Meryl's shoulder to stop the woman from springing up.

Stryfe glanced up, eyes tearstained and confused, and they widened almost comically. Her breath caught; after the sobbing, the silence was strange, and the Plant tilted her head in a manner Elizabeth would have sworn was inquisitive, though her expression was still utterly blank.

No. No it wasn't blank.

It was Millie's expression.

The Plant's eyes were closed. They were glowing through her eyelids.

"I don't think Millie was alone," Elizabeth observed quietly.

"S-she wasn't," Meryl admitted, and the engineer was almost surprised enough to look down at her. Almost.

"They were here yesterday." Meryl sounded almost awed. "And this morning. They were talking for her."

Talking for her . . . ? Had they been the ones to help her say goodbye?

"Thank you," Meryl said, projecting loudly enough for more than just the closest one to hear. "For staying with her. I know she appreciated it."

The Plant regarded her through its eyelid, and otherwise didn't move.

". . . one of them touched me," Meryl continued, trying to keep her voice low and smooth. "Yesterday. I don't remember anything else until this morning. There's no blisters . . ."

That was why Meryl hadn't come back. She'd had radiation sickness.

"Sometimes there isn't," Elizabeth replied. "I've seen Plants go out of their way to avoid burning humans if they can. Still, it's a type of radiation poisoning. You shouldn't have any lasting effects."

Meryl was quiet a moment, and then there was a rustling sound. Elizabeth glanced back down, surprised to see that Stryfe was busy with arranging Thompson again.

"That's not what I meant," she said softly, bringing Millie's other hand up to cross it over her stomach as well. "Aaron, is he . . . is he okay?"

"He's fine." It was an overstatement, but now she was feeling slightly more sympathetic to the diminutive insurance saleswoman. "I told him I'd be back in half an hour. Perhaps we should take Millie back with us –" At least to give her a bath before burial.

"No." It was immediate. "I think Millie would have preferred this. She always loved trees."

The engineer subsided, glancing back up at the Plant again. She was hanging completely motionless, as if her unnatural position was no strain to her muscles. The only thing that moved was her hair. The others seemed content to stay where they were, just above her, their countenance all a mirror of Millie.

If they had had some type of telepathic connection to Millie, and they were fine, then what on Gunsmoke had happened to Knives? All those men he'd slain on the New Kennedy, and there had never been so much as a twitch from him. What had he been doing?

. . . had he been _fighting_ with the other Plants?

"Can you do me a favor?"

The engineer nodded silently. "Anything."

Meryl Stryfe squared her shoulders, indicating she wanted the hand removed. ". . . do you think you can find a shovel?"

-x-

Doc shoved the stool out of the way, hurrying as quickly as his weak legs could carry him. Blood from the ears and nose could indicate anything from a concussive shock wave to a pathogen, but given that Knives had a Plant-like physiology there was another explanation –

The young man appeared from thin air, directly between them, and those shining pearled calamus puffed out like the fur on the back of a threatened mongrel. The message could not have been clearer.

Nor could he have cared less. "Stand aside!" he ordered, making a sweeping gesture with his good arm. "He needs help-"

The young man did nothing of the kind.

Doc tried to sidestep him and the young man made a gesture of his own, backhanding Doc's wrist away. The pain was instant; he might as well have slammed the inside of his wrist against a steel hedgehog. It radiated up his arm with his blood, and if he had not already self-administered painkillers not twenty minutes ago, it probably would have been enough to render him unconscious.

As it was, he was likely headed instead for a heart attack. He clutched the arm to himself with a shout, and sat down hard on the floor. From there, around the spots, he could see that blood was pooling beneath Knives' face.

"Young . . .man . ." he gasped. "Your master . . . he needs . . . help-"

In response, the mutant vibrated the calamus on his arm. It made an ominous hissing rattle.

Don't touch.

Doc cried out in frustration, bent over his arm. Dear lord, this was probably how poor Vash felt when he'd broken his forearm and the prosthetic was too damaged to help him cradle it. Fire was racing through his chest, and Doc wondered what it was the mutant had injected.

Nothing good.

"You . . . your mutation . . . can you . . . sense the chemicals . . . in someone else's . . . blood?"

There was nothing to suggest that the calamus were bi-directional. It was possible that he simply injected hormones based on his best guess of his victim's weight and blood chemistry, but the nuance necessary to make him selectively forget things, forget what he was doing, forget about Millie Thompson . . . and he was too young to have learned that through trial and error.

It was just a hunch, but if he was right . . .

The young man stared at him, still puffed and threatening. Doc's arm began to cramp.

"Then you can . . . tell that . . . I'm not lying. Lying releases . . . specific neurotransmitters . . ." It was almost impossible for him to force the limb to extend, the rigid muscles curled it close to his chest, but his fingers still responded, reaching out in silent plea. "I . . only want . . . to help him."

Knives' guard did not move.

Doc held out as long as he could, but the cramping and his shortness of breath were getting more pronounced. Definitely a cardiac event. A fatal attack to protect Knives, one that might result in the Plant's death as well. Foolishness-

Fingertips on his face.

Of course. A liar's cheeks would temporarily flush with blood. Perhaps the levels of chemicals he could sense were limited, or –

The mutant shoved him abruptly onto his back, slapping the flat of his hand down just below Doc's neck. He couldn't have struggled if he'd wanted to, and he didn't want to – the pressure on his lungs eased almost immediately. He sucked down deep, even breaths, letting his circulatory system do its work. It took several minutes before the weight on his chest seemed to ease, and Doc gratefully nodded at the mutant.

The young man – he really needed learn his name, hadn't Knives called him Wright? - eyed him skeptically.

No matter. "We . . . need to get him on . . . the table."

-x-

**Author's Notes**: Look! Nothing happened!

Well, almost nothing. I'm going to disappear for a little while so I wanted to get as much of it done as possible before I vanished. I know MoonClaimed is reading, so at least one of you will still be around when I finish this beast. As always, no beta, and I'm doing this as quickly as possible, so I do apologize for the typos or word repetition I saw in the last chapter. Hopefully this wasn't all too predictable, and for those who have sat through 31 long chapters to see Vash, I can promise you without a doubt –

Vash will either wake up next chapter, or die. ; )


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

"Let me see."

He tugged his right arm closer to himself, away from her prying fingers. It already hurt a lot, and it was hot, and her hands were always warm, so it would only hurt more if she touched it.

"I just want to look," Rem murmured, in that soothing voice of hers. "Just one little look. Is that okay?"

He bit down on his trembling bottom lip, then gave a little nod. He was cupping his fingers around it so that he wasn't touching it either, and he peeled his left hand back a little – just a little. The cool air stung, and he covered it back up with a whimper.

"Oh, that's just a little scratch," Rem chided him. "We can fix that up no problem!"

She laid her hand lightly on top of his head, stroking his hair, and that made him feel a little better. Then she ruffled it backwards, and used her hand to gently steer him towards the door, and away from the relative safety of his bed. Knives tried very hard to stop crying as they walked down the halls, because he couldn't see very well and he was afraid _he_ might still be out there.

But there were no shapes at all in the hallway, and Rem propelled him into a room he hadn't ever visited before. It was very bright; the walls and ceiling were all a soft white and there were gleaming benches filled with cream and black equipment. He recognized a microscope, and there was a robotic arm that looked very cool, and then Rem was wiping his face with a paper towel.

The paper was rough, and he pulled away with a little whine of protest and looked up to see her smiling at him.

"There you are!" she declared, and then gently picked him up and set him down on the counter.

It was cool through his shorts, but not too terribly cold, and he glanced around uncertainly as she crossed the aisle to one of the many transparent cabinets, gently depressing the bottom corner of the polymer door. It slid open soundlessly, and she started rooting around.

". . . is this your lab?"

Rem turned and gave him a bright smile. "Mmm-hmm," she confirmed. "Well, one of them. We have several on the ship. But they're all filled with things that could be dangerous, so I don't want you or Vash to come in here without an adult, okay?"

Knives made sure he was sitting very still, and not leaning on anything behind him. Rem came back over and patted his knee comfortingly.

"Now let's get you all patched up."

She had what looked like a stainless steel jar, and she unscrewed the wide-mouthed top to reveal something that looked wet, like oily paste.

"Can you let go for a second?"

He sniffled the snot out of his nose. "Will . . . will it hurt?"

She shook her head. "Nope! It's an antibiotic ointment, and it will make it feel much better."

Somewhat uncertainly he peeled his left hand away from his wrist. In the bright light it looked even worse, all red and puffy, and there were bright red drops of blood in one of the deeper scratches. Just seeing it made it hurt more, and he tried not to cry too loudly when Rem gently took his wrist in her hands.

"You scraped it on something, huh?" Her voice was very sympathetic, and her fingers were quite gentle as she dabbed the oily paste on. It stung when she touched him, but when he flinched her hand became like iron, and he couldn't pull away. He squirmed and made an unhappy sound.

"Hold still, Knives -"

And then the stinging faded, just like she'd promised.

Rem gave him a smile and let him go, screwing the cap back on her metal jar. "That will keep it from getting infected while it heals," she told him, unwrapping something flat that looked like paper. It had a very sharp odor.

Knives rotated his wrist uncertainly, but the hot feeling was fading. The ointment cooled it very comfortably. It looked really wet, and he experimentally poked the very edge of what she had smeared. It was thick, and hard to wipe off.

"Does it keep out bacteria by covering it up?"

"Bacteria can't grow on it," she explained, holding up the big rectangular bandage. "And if bacteria touches it, it dies. Do you know what bacteria looks like?"

He nodded slowly. They'd seen bacteria in the computers. They were too small to see with your eyes, you needed a microscope. Some of them were shaped like noodles, and some like eggs, and some were totally round, and then some were really long, like fat straws. They came in all colors and had funny textures.

"When bacteria touches this, it makes the cells walls go pop!, like a bubble."

But . . . "But we're on a spaceship," he said slowly. "How could bacteria get on the ship with us? Is it dirty in here?"

Rem laughed. "This room is very clean," she promised him seriously. "But bacteria is all around us. You're covered in it."

Knives flinched back, holding his hands off of himself, and she laughed again. "You have dozens of kinds of bacteria on your skin, and your hair, and even between your toes. Some of it is even good for you."

He blinked up at her, completely taken aback, and she patted his tummy. "Right in there, you have bacteria that helps you digest food."

He had bacteria _inside_ him?! "Ewww!"

"When the bacteria helps us, it's called a symbiotic relationship."

She took advantage of his disgust and wrapped the self-adhering bandage around his wrist. "A symbiotic relationship?" But that was hardly the most important thing she'd said. "How did the bacteria get inside me?"

The door at the end of the lab slid open, and Mary stepped through. She looked surprised to see them.

"Oh! What's going on here?"

Rem glanced over, smoothing down the bandage. Knives was surprise when it didn't hurt, not even a little. "Knives got a scrape."

"Poor guy! But I bet Rem fixed you all up."

Knives nodded, touching the bandage. It felt strange on his skin, almost like skin itself, but when he touched it, he could only feel it with his fingertips, and not the skin on his arm. He put his fingernail under the edge experimentally, just to see how it pulled up.

"Don't touch it," Rem instructed sternly. "We'll take it off tomorrow and see how it's doing."

Mary opened one of the other cabinets and took out a blue notebook. "Where's Vash?"

"He's still sleeping in the rec room." Rem held out her hands, and Knives obediently leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her neck. She gave him a hug, then moved to set him down on his feet, and he clung stubbornly. She laughed a little and moved him to her hip, and he laid his head down under her chin.

"Rem, how does bacteria get inside people? Are they born with it?" And then, how did it get into their moms?

"Well, it's on the food you eat," Rem explained, turning to lean against the counter. "And your body is specially designed to let the bacteria into certain places, and keep it out of others."

"Oh, we're learning about science today?" Mary came over and patted him on the back. "You have all kinds of bacteria in your digestive track, you know. And it's very important that it stays put. If you didn't have any, it would make you sick."

Knives shot straight up in Rem's arms. "But, Rem! You put the ointment on me!"

She gave him a mischievous smile. "I didn't make you _eat_ it, did I?"

Oh. He relaxed a little, but still sat up straight so he could see her face. "So why do we want to kill the bacteria on my scrape? Won't the ointment get in my blood and then go to my tummy?"

Mary looked surprised. "Wow," she commented. "Looks like you're raising a little scientist right there!"

"He's a smart one!" Rem replied proudly. "The ointment we put on you only kills the bacteria it touches. There won't be enough of it in your blood to kill the good bacteria. Now remember, bacteria is only good when it's in the right place. If the good bacteria in your tummy escaped and got into, say, your eyes, it would make you sick."

"So it can be good and bad?"

She nodded. "Yep. You give it a home, and in turn it helps you by breaking down chemicals in your food that your body couldn't without it. That's a symbiotic relationship."

Knives considered that. It seemed alright when she explained it like that. It had a cozy home in his tummy, and food to eat, and in turn it helped him by making his food more nutritious. "Sort of like the crew of a ship?"

Mary hmmed. "I suppose it's like that," she agreed. "We live inside the ship, and help keep it running, and if we ended up in the wrong parts, we would certainly mess things up."

"Like if you got in the engine," Knives suggested. "It would introduce water and carbon into the fission reaction. The reaction would change, and the contamination would be hard to get out. And the steam you'd generate would elevate the internal pressure past its safe level."

Mary was giving him a strange look. It wasn't quite the same look _he_ gave them. But it was not at all like the look Rem was giving him. Rem looked very pleased. Mary didn't.

"How do you know that, Knives?"

"I built a model of the engine." He said it uncertainly. He was allowed, wasn't he? "In the simulator. If you introduce the elements that make up the human body, it would hamper the reaction between helium and nitrogen because the nitrogen would get captured by other reactions."

"You built a model of our engines . . . by yourself?"

He nodded. However, Rem shook her head.

"Yes I did!"

"Did you?" She was watching him closely. "Think about it, Knives. How did you learn about helium?"

Had he said something wrong? "We learned about the elements in study."

Rem nodded. "And what do we do when we study?"

" . . . we read?"

"That's right." She looked pleased, so he relaxed a little, but he still wasn't sure how reading meant that he hadn't made the engine model by himself.

"Where do you think the data came from?"

"The computer?"

She smiled. "Well, yes, but how do you think it got there?"

Well, that was easy. "Someone programmed it."

"Exactly." She turned, so that they were both facing the equipment in the laboratory. "So someone, a long time ago, studied helium. They did all kinds of experiments in a lab like this one. They tried to combine helium with other elements, and when they couldn't, they recorded that result. It must have taken them a long time to test all the elements with helium, right?"

He thought about it, then nodded.

"It probably took him several years. So he recorded his results carefully. And then the next person who wanted to learn about helium read his notes, instead of doing all the experiments himself. He could read the results, and try new experiments based on the data from the previous ones. He could get further in his study, because the work done before he ever started saved him all of that time."

Oh. "So whoever learned about helium helped me build my model?" Knives paused. "But what if he made a mistake in his experiments?"

Rem's eyebrows lifted, like they did when she saw something she thought was fascinating. "That's a good question. That's where all science comes from. Scientists ask questions, and then they do experiments, and record the results. Then other scientists do the same experiments, just to make sure _they_ get the same results. So when the third round of scientists start studying, they can be sure that the previous experiments – and what they learned from them – is right."

Rem used her chin to gesture around them. "That microscope was built by hundreds of people. Some people studied lenses, and some people studied plastics, and some people studied light. And all of their work combined left us with this microscope. That's how people built the ship. They built it on the work of the people who came before."

Knives looked around the lab. Everything in it had been built by hundreds or thousands of people? "Does that mean that you can never do anything by yourself?"

"There are things you can do by yourself," Mary answered. "For example, you can clean up your own dishes, can't you? Just because someone else made the plate doesn't mean they made the mess."

The corner of Rem's mouth turned up. "Did someone leave his snack plate on the counter again?"

But Mary was smiling. That strange look she'd had was gone. "Yes, in fact I think _two_ someones."

"Sorry," Knives mumbled. But he could tell immediately he wasn't in any trouble.

"Apology accepted, future scientist!"

Future scientist. Knives looked around the lab again. Rem was a scientist. But even so . . . "I want to be an engineer," he decided. "It's more fun to build things than it is to watch them."

Rem leaned off the counter and headed towards the hallway door, still carrying him. "I see! Engineer it is. What do you think Vash wants to be?"

Knives thought about it as the three of them left the lab. Vash liked to watch things, but he wasn't patient enough to wait to see what would happen. "I think he should be an artist," he finally concluded. "He likes to draw."

"Speaking of, I am sure he's woken by now," Rem murmured. "I will collect my engineer and my artist and we will learn about doing dishes next, how's that."

"Then they'll be the only two on the crew who do," Mary noted. "Are you all better now, Knives?"

He had forgotten completely about the scrape, and looked down at his bandage. It was all smooth and neat. "Uh-huh."

"That's good. But for today, you better dry, instead of washing. You want to keep your bandage clean and dry, okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good boy." Mary gave them a wave and then she and her blue notebook headed back towards the bridge.

Rem turned in the opposite direction, towards the rec room. "Let's go see what Rembrandt has gotten himself into."

"Who's Rembrandt?"

The rec room door opened, but no bright light came flooding out to meet him. Confused, Knives opened his eyes.

It was dim, the lights were diffuse and seemed to be coming up from below him. He turned his head, it rolled easily on something soft but it started to pound immediately, and the world shifted nauseatingly beneath him. Knives closed his eyes, swallowing the urge to vomit, and took a deep breath.

The ceiling of his lab.

Knives opened them again, bringing his hand up to his aching head. He was lying flat on his back, and he turned, more cautiously this time, to see a waveform on a nearby screen. Brainwaves, from the pattern, and his fingers found what felt like a dry patch of skin on his temple.

Knives put a fingernail under the edge, fingering it for a second before pulling the sensor off. The waveform flatlined.

He sat up, acutely aware of the unhappiness of his inner ear, and suffered through several waves of dizziness. A sharp poke inside his left elbow stopped him from moving the arm, and he traced the line to a bag of clear fluid, attached to a pole at the side of the bed.

"Ah."

Knives withdrew the catheter from his arm, using his thumb instead of telekinesis to put pressure on the vessel. He dropped the line but the old man didn't seem overly concerned about his concoction leaking to the floor. He simply turned off the monitor. He had changed clothes at some point, now in an ivory shirt that was far too large for him.

One of Vash's shirts.

"I thought perhaps you might sleep through the night," the old man murmured, then gestured at the ceiling. Knives didn't need to look to know what the human was pointing at. The observation cam. "I took the liberty of recording everything from the moment I gained access to the system. I assumed you would want to review it."

The last thing he could remember was Rem . . .

No.

It wasn't.

Knives closed his eyes as the effort of focusing them into a glare exacerbated the headache. He heard fabric shifting. "You have quite the concussion, my dear fellow, but no permanent damage. The scans are available for you to evaluate if you wish. I've taken the liberty of turning down the lighting. When last I checked, your pupils were still dilated."

Why. Why would the old man do that.

". . . do you think this proves anything?"

He focused on the old human, who was sitting heavily on a stool. Doc simply shrugged. "I don't have anything to prove to you."

His head hurt too much to deal with this.

Knives swung his legs over the side of the bed, noting that his bodysuit had been cut down the front to allow access to his chest and arms. There were no marks, but Wright or Librett had to have helped the old man, and they knew well the rule they had broken. He would deal with them later.

"If you would be inclined," the old man continued blandly, "I am happy to administer anti-inflammatories, and something for the pain. Your acolytes would not permit anything but simple saline."

Knives gave him a look he hoped conveyed all the hate and fury he was slightly too nauseated to express with his voice. He didn't dare touch his telepathy. As expected, the old man's lips grew into a wide smile.

"I think you'll be just fine," he noted, as if to himself. "I'll be right back."

He clambered slowly to his feet, but he looked extremely frail, and moved as a man his age ought to. He supposedly had seen Earth, yet he couldn't have been over eighty, at least in years spent outside of cold sleep.

Why did that matter?

Knives pulled one of the rolling consoles over, irritated at finding it so close and handy. The old man thought he knew him, did he? He was halfway through the fast-forwarded footage when the human reappeared, not with a syringe but with a selection of pills and a glass of clear liquid.

"I am afraid these are from the New Kennedy," he said as if in apology. "However, they should do the trick." He set the small metal tray on the table beside the gelfoam bed, and gestured at the console. "You're almost to the good part."

So far, it appeared all the doctor had done was what he claimed. Wright had indeed touched him, only on the bodysuit, and the human had then run some basic diagnostic scans, and treated him. No additional tests. No drawing of blood or other fluids. There was nothing in his hand as he had run the IV line, and he watched the old man mixing saline by hand, under Wright's careful stare. No indication of taking any type of additional liberty. In fact, the old man had even dressed the small cut he'd gotten on his arm.

Humans and their damned sentimentalism.

However, then the doctor disappeared from the monitor's view, and the footage switched to the primary laboratory. The old man went through his bag and administered several injections to himself. Then he sat still for quite some time at Knives' preferred console, pouring over the reports on Vash. Knives stopped the playback, remoting into the other console.

The summary report was right there, waiting for him on the main screen. It wasn't ideal, certainly, but it was above zero.

Significantly.

"Vash is unconscious," Doc told him, and the relief in his voice was hard to miss. "There's no activity from his Gate, unfortunately, but his coma lightened about an hour ago. I knew you would want to review the results before taking further action, but I have made several suggestions."

The cells were active, but they were working now off stored energy. They were accustomed to getting a steady stream of Gate energy, rather than doses of it. The organelles had become active, processing what it had received, but they were already starting to relax again into inactivity.

"There is enough residual energy stored in the bulb buffer to expose him," Doc continued unnecessarily. "I would have summoned Fron, but she appeared to be occupied with other matters."

Knives glanced up at the old man, careful to keep his head as still as possible. So he knew . . . "And would you have treated me, old man, had you known?"

Doc was pale, but his gaze was unwavering. "I knew," he replied sternly. "I knew the moment you returned without her that she was lost. She was a beautiful human, Knives, inside and out, and she deserved to be saved."

His head ached too badly to rehash the argument, and belated he remembered the pills. A glance told him what they were; nothing strong enough to incapacitate him. Even the act of swallowing them hurt.

Knives glanced at the data again, then remoted into the battery array. He had asked his sisters for raw energy, and they had provided it. It wasn't quite the same frequency as Fron had given him, so many years ago, but it might do.

Pumping that energy into the tube was just as easy as exposing Vash to it on the table; he could do it from here, and he did, adjusting the levels so that it did not arc through his body so much as traverse the more conductive serum. He would have preferred to get some indication of what Vash was thinking, but he knew full well that it was ill advised. He wasn't even quite sure he knew what had happened.

He knew that if he looked, he would find a hideous gash through the path that led out of his mind's city. A gaping hole where that bridge he had built had been. It wasn't that the bricks themselves would be gone – some of the blocks of his own road would be damaged as well.

If not for the spider, it might have happened anyway. The path to Vash's mind would look the same.

He must not have severed the connection in time. If he had tried to hold her mind any longer, it might have killed him.

In a way, that was reassuring. He'd assumed if he'd been linked to Vash's mind when he had been fooled into believing Vash was dying, he too would perish. It appeared that hypothesis was correct. But he'd had to, to get his answers. She had been falling apart. She'd held out her hand, and he had taken it –

His head throbbed, and Knives closed his eyes briefly against it. It hurt to even remember.

It was a problem for another time. He was vulnerable, had been seen as vulnerable by at least Wright. That was something he needed to address. And killing Wright was not a desirable option. Librett could not survive without him. Much like he and Vash, they were a matched set. He would never deprive one of the other. If he had to kill Wright, he would have to kill them both.

Leaving him with no one to keep an eye on the humans.

Because they were not directly injecting energy into Vash's cells, the reporting was much faster. His cells were actively absorbing the energy that was around them. The old man had been correct; once they had shocked them into functioning, the energy absorption was working properly. Vash's Gate would normally have been producing this energy, and it would have been flowing through his body.

. . . through his body, not around it. It was fallacious to think this was normal.

Knives made a note to complete a study on his own Gate and cells as soon as the old man was incapacitated. Given the trauma he had suffered and the amount of time he had spent conscious and mobile, it was somewhat impressive the elderly human was still moving at all.

The monitors on Vash's brainwaves showed additional activity, and Knives closed down the experiment. His brother was now closer than ever before to a normal sleep pattern.

The old man saw it as well. "So it works," he murmured. The relief that had been in his voice previously was curbed.

Knives pinned him with his eyes. "Are you regretting condemning him to my 'dominance'?"

The old human sucked in a deep breath, and released it with something akin to regret. "Your issues notwithstanding, we've just sentenced him to life in Eden without parole. I'm not sure that is something for which I should receive his thanks."

-x-

Although the blanket was something he was taking advantage of even now, he would have traded it and all of Elizabeth's efforts to get them a hot water heater.

"How long has she been in there?"

Elizabeth was picking at the ivory paste with her fork, assembling it into something rather than actually eating it. "She's not used to that kind of labor."

He'd woken only after they were mostly through the room. Hadn't even heard them enter. The insurance woman had been sweaty and bone tired, with dirt almost up to her knees, and his employer's expression had been entirely unnecessary.

He'd buried more than one man. He knew.

He knew what kind of work that was. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the hot showers he'd subjected himself to thereafter had been a necessary part of the process.

She had been in there for the better part of half an hour. She was doing exactly what she didn't need to do. She was making herself numb.

The problem was, numb didn't make anything better. He should know, and he didn't need a cold shower to get there. Even rubbing his fingertips together netted him almost no tactile feedback. No hunger, no soreness at lying on the floor. No sharp pain of any kind, just ache. His limbs were as difficult to manipulate as they had been before.

He was no better than he had been this morning.

And he knew she knew it.

Carter stared at the ceiling, listening to the running water in their closet of a bathroom. It wasn't warm by any stretch, but the water wasn't cold enough to drive her out for a long time. Hours. She'd be blue and shivering, and the last thing they needed was another one of them out of commission.

"Any sign of the old guy?"

The fork stilled in the paste, and she shook her head. "One of our guards provided the shovel. I doubt he was allowed to see her, there was no sign she was receiving any kind of treatment." Her eyes drifted across the room, searching her memory. "He would be valuable to Knives, and I'm certain if he meant to throw him away, we would have found him by Thompson. He's still alive."

That was not necessarily probable. Thompson being discarded was not just convenient for Knives, it was a clear message to them that they were all disposable, no matter how useful they had proven to be. Vash being on death's door was the only thing keeping them alive, and if the old man had failed to help, he might have simply been killed. Hell, with his arm rotting, he might have died in a corner somewhere without anyone noticing. Just because it wasn't as public as Thompson didn't mean much.

All it meant was that past service was no guarantee of survival. It mean that Elizabeth herself was not off limits. And that was first and foremost his problem.

There was no protecting her from the floor. The only way to make her indispensable was to make her the only person who had something Knives wanted. Knives wanted his brother to recover. If Elizabeth had a key to enable that, she would be temporarily off limits.

"If you had a Plant in a bulb with Vash's symptoms, what would you do?"

She didn't look surprised by the question. "We'd force a Last Run," she said immediately. "A Plant not producing energy is worthless." She gave him a dry smile. "Not the answer you were hoping for, I'm guessing."

Certainly not the one Knives would want. "What if that wasn't an option."

She shrugged, then gave up on the paste and set the plate on the ground. "We'd use the bulb infrastructure to try to force energy production. Change the angles, change the drugs. Apply every stimulant we have. But Vash isn't a normal Plant. His physiology is different."

Aaron was silent, letting her work through it. "We might try exposing one bulb to another," she mused. "I read an internal paper on Plants showing premature failure. Bringing a healthy Plant, even in a sedation state, into close proximity to the failing Plant showed modest increases in energy production. It was never enough to cause a full recovery, but it allowed the Plant in December to continue functioning for some months after a Last Run would normally have been initiated."

That didn't do them much good. Vash was being exposed to all kinds of healthy Plants. The place was literally crawling with them.

"If you're asking how I can make myself necessary, I've been working on that for a while." She stretched her legs out in front of her, rolling her head on her shoulders to look towards the bathroom, where the sound of running water hadn't abated. "I can't imagine there's anything I can add to what Knives and presumably Doc are trying. There is no way Knives would let me put Vash in a bulb, even if it was the only thing that would save his life."

Carter thought about that. "Do you still want to?"

"Save Vash?" Her eyes were distant. "For a long time, I wanted him dead. It might not have been his idea, but it was his Gate that killed my parents. It didn't matter that he was the one who picked me up and saved me. Now . . ." She pursed her lips. "I don't know . . . " There was a long pause. "I know you saw right through 'Eriks'. He wasn't himself."

She might struggle to say it, but the meaning was clear.

He'd hated visits from 'Eriks,' the guy had rubbed him wrong even before he knew who Eriks really was. That guy had been hauling more than Plants on his back, and he was too damn skinny to shoulder the weight he was trying to carry.

They had fought for Vash the Stampede. Millie Thompson had died for him. But after all this time, after a hundred years of getting the short end of the shaft, was anything left to fight for them.

-x-

Water.

It sounded like water. A running brook of it, gurgling and tumbling and bubbling over the pebbles in the rec room. It sounded like the aquifer beneath the mansion. It was wet and happy and welcome.

He listened to it for some time. There was green, on the other side of his eyelids, and light. Not terribly bright. Not like the suns. Maybe he was in shade, beneath the tree. He remembered laying beneath it, watching the light dappling through the leaves -

The ground beneath him gave way suddenly, and his eyes flew open.

He had gathered himself for the fall, his arms raised, and in the green liquid his wrist looked weirdly thin. There was only one. His prosthetic was missing.

Vash took a breath, and impossibly, he felt the exchange of liquid in his lungs. It didn't hurt. It didn't feel like drowning. It was more effort than breathing air, the temperature difference was more pronounced.

Shocked, he looked past his hand, into a distorted laboratory.

He was in a tube.

Vash froze completely, and the tension in his frame made him float several inches. No one was moving out there, that he could see. The lights were dimmer than they ought to be for a working lab. The glass and the colored liquid he was floating in made seeing detail almost impossible.

He was in a tube. They'd put him in a tube.

Like Tessla.

He whimpered, but there was no sound. The water wasn't enough to move his vocal chords. He stretched out his hand, surprised when he could touch the glass, surprised when he could feel it. His other arm looked elongated, the stump was far too long, and he held his liquid breath before he dared to look any further down.

His abdomen wasn't open. His organs weren't floating there in the green with him, exposed and riddled with tumors. His toes could just brush the bottom of the tube.

He was whole.

There was no metal. The pins, the staples, the grill – all of it was gone. They'd taken it out when they'd-

They'd-

There was motion, outside of the tube. A figure.

They knew he was awake.

The lights outside the tube brightened, and Vash flinched towards the back of the tube. They knew he was awake.

He had to get out of here.

Vash looked up, frantically trying to find a weak point in the arc of the glass. There was no air at the surface, no visible means of opening the tube from the inside. It would be strong, used to the pressures of the liquids inside, and he had no metal to break the glass.

They had taken it away.

He braced his feet against the glass in front of him, wedging himself tightly before he brought his left arm back, hard, driving his elbow into the glass. It held. He tried again, then used his right heel, trying to push through the cylinder with as much strength as he could gather.

It wasn't enough.

The tube held.

The figure in front of the tube was gesturing, but all he could hear were the bubbles of the aerator. He kicked again, changing the angle and gasping in the green water. It was harder to breathe than air, he wasn't getting enough oxygen from it, and white spots joined the bubbles around him. He was panicking, he knew it but he couldn't -

"-ash, stop!" It was immediate and authoritative, coming from the green all around him.

He froze, scanning the tube frantically, and there was a dull slap. The flat of a hand was pressed up against the glass. It was a smaller hand than his own, about chest high.

"Calm down, idiot." The growl was distorted by the liquid, but heart-stoppingly familiar. "You're going to hyperventilate."

Vash kept gasping, kept braced against the glass, and he watched the hand. It disappeared, and then knuckles rapped on the glass.

Shave and-a-hair-cut.

But that voice –

Vash hesitated, sucking hard on the liquid atmosphere, then slowly untangled himself, drifting back towards the center of the cylinder. This wasn't possible. This was a nightmare.

That was Knives' voice.

But that hand . . . it wasn't Knives. Whoever was out there was far too short.

Vash let himself sink just slightly, pressing up against the glass. Whoever it was, they were wearing a white coat, they were bald, and much shorter than he'd thought –

The angle of the glass made his face a wavy mess, but that smile . . .

Vash blinked, completely collapsing inside the cylinder.

That was Doc.

"I'm draining the liquid now."

The aerator spun up with a roaring boil, and a current sucked him to the bottom of the tube. There was enough room to crouch, and Vash watched apprehensively as the liquid's surface approached. It broke above his head, cold, and the air burned his eyes. He squeezed them shut, forcing a hard exhale as his head was entirely clear of the water. The warm water flooded out of his mouth and nose, and he clenched his diaphragm as tight as he could.

Then he waited a beat, and tried to suck in a breath of air.

The green water, that had been so soothing in his lungs, became fire. He knew it would feel like drowning, the exchange from liquid to gas, but his coughs were too weak to clear his lungs. Without his liquid support, he didn't even have the strength to hold himself up. The world turned him head over heels, and he clung to the grating at the bottom of the cylinder and struggled to get rid of the water.

He couldn't.

It seemed like he'd swallowed and then vomited the volume of the entire cylinder before he became aware of his body, curled on his side, hanging off the edge of something. He was too weak to pick up his head, too weak to close his mouth, but he could finally take shallow, shallow breaths without choking. Someone was pushing his back.

Vash dared to open his eyes. Just barely; the green water left in them burned unbearably, and the light was too bright.

He was pushed onto his back, choking again when he could _feel_ the water sloshing around the bottom of his lungs. Something hard was on his chest, it wouldn't let him turn over again, and then it crushed down into him. It helped; the water was ejected, squirting up the back of his throat and out his nose when he closed his mouth to swallow.

It also felt like he'd just broken a couple ribs.

For the first time since leaving the tube, Vash felt like he could breathe, and he left his eyes closed and concentrated only on that one, simple task.

Just breathe.

Someone was talking. It sounded like Doc, but it couldn't be. It couldn't be. Doc wasn't involved. And Knives –

Knives would never have let Doc put him in a tube. Never. If it was Doc, he would be dead. He would be a bloodied splatter on the wall. Doc hadn't been there. Doc hadn't been with the others, it wasn't his ship.

It wasn't his crew that had done it.

Vash tried once again to open his eyes. They watered badly, but mercifully there was no light directly over his face, and he could see.

Doc was talking, he could see his lips moving but there was too much water in his ears to hear. The older man looked up, and then Knives swam into view.

_. . . K-Knives?_

A heavy, suffocating silence met his inquiry. There was no sense of his brother there at all.

Knives focused on him, said something curt.

But he couldn't hear it.

Knives stared at him, clearly waiting for a response, and Vash closed his eyes.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: Well, he was awake for a few minutes . . . ::dodges bricks:: Now that our boy is finally with us, I guess we'll see what he thinks of everything that's happened. I have learned from my previous long bouts of introspection that they're hell on pacing, so I'm going to try something a little different with the next chapter. You guys can let me know if it works (or doesn't.) At least we're in the homestretch. . . . kinda. I anticipate about six more chapters before we're finished. Which means prolly closer to twelve, if PAA or Trial and Error were any indication . . .


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

_Italics_ indicate telepathic communication. (I probably should have added that note ages ago.)

-x-

When next he opened them, Vash's eyes saw only white.

It wasn't the white of his dreams. It wasn't the white of destruction, of smoke, of stars. It wasn't the white of a Plant. It disappointed him, in a way. It was banal old ceiling white.

His ceiling.

His room.

And the feeling of his body, lying there in his bed, was inextricably alien.

In his left peripheral, there was motion, and he unthinkingly turned towards it.

"Yo," Knives greeted him, his voice deep and relaxed. _He_ was relaxed; he was reclining in a chair by the bed, one foot propped up on the mattress. The armor Vash had been somehow expecting was absent; Knives was dressed in his work clothes, soft brown trousers and a red cotton shirt. His feet were uncharacteristically bare.

Vash didn't miss the symmetry. It had been _him_ slouched in that chair. Ten months ago. Knives had been lying where he was lying now. The reversal of roles was complete.

It was over.

He reached out, tentatively, to touch his brother's mind, and he found nothing. It was like Knives wasn't even there.

. . . so how similar _were_ these circumstances?

Knives' look became considering. "You think this is a figment of my imagination? No, brother. This is real." _No more games._

Vash let his eyes drift back to center in their sockets, moving his focus point to the joint of the ceiling and the wall. It wasn't like the girls' house had been. Their ceiling had been choked with sand, the pores in the plaster would capture it unless you used a rubber-based paint or some kind of sealant, and of course those were expensive –

Only the best for their home.

Knives sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh touched with a tone of contentment. "It is a suitable domicile. Better, I think, than the last one the humans provided you." In his peripheral vision, he saw Knives rest his head back against the wall, apparently also considering the ceiling. "You do remember, don't you?"

Back in the tube, he'd been frantic. Things had been disjointed. Now that he was awake, really awake, his eidetic memory was quick to provide context. Fragments of countless nightmares. Nightmares in which he'd been defeated, over and over again. Helpless to prevent the slaughter of those he loved. Unable to save even one of them. Unwilling to use his Angel Arm.

Unable. If he had manifested, even in those nightmares, then he would have manifested in real life. And it was critical that he not, if Knives had sensed -

But clearly that time was long past. It seemed as though the games had already run their course.

_Those weren't games._

Vash licked his bottom lip, somehow expecting it to be chapped. It wasn't. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't want to hear that you're _sorry_," Knives snarled, his tone at odds with his projection of serenity. "I don't want to hear that _they didn't know what they were doing._ I want to hear you say that you know what they did to you."

Vash closed his eyes. He knew why his body felt so unfamiliar. He knew why she had touched the gaping wounds and filled them with light. He remembered what his body had looked like, floating in the tube.

Knives. Knives had put him in that tube.

"To save your life, idiot." The hard edge was still in his tone. "Haven't you noticed yet?"

It was meant to gall him, but Vash felt . . . nothing. Even without moving he knew how weak he was. Too weak to cough. If they had truly gotten him to manifest in the bulb, there was no telling how much energy they had drained. His memories, however perfect, got foggy around what he had guessed was his second day inside the bulb. After that, there were just impressions, except when she had been talking to him-

Comforting him. His cries had carried to her over the ship's network.

"Where is she?" Knives would never have left the other Plant on that ship. Not if they were already back in Eden.

"The humans had the foresight to uninstall her." The calm tone was back as if it had never left. "She's older than the others. Possibly from the same generation as our mother."

Vash felt his eyebrows furrow, and he opened his eyes again to see Knives was watching him closely. "So you _are_ still in there," he murmured, as if to himself. "You have no memory of leaving the ship because you were in a coma."

The dreams.

A humorless chuckle, completely silent. _No, Vash._

Vash stared at him, and Knives' look became very focused. "Say it. Tell me that you remember."

He swallowed, again surprised to find it so painless. "I . . . I was careless. They had some agents in a bar and staged a fight. One of them knew about Frank, bought a round-"

"They comprehended you were a free, humanoid, sentient Plant, capable of communication. They kidnapped you.  
They drugged you. They ripped your body apart, installed you into a Bulb, and they sucked some of the life out of you." His brother's calm was fading fast. "Then they tried to force you back into a humanoid so they could study you, before they euthanized you and dissected you. The humans took excellent notes." It sounded like he was chewing the words. "I want you to tell me that you remember."

Vash let his eyes drift close.

You know that I do.

"I want to hear you say it out loud."

"What's the point?" The unnatural exhaustion made his tone heavy. "You've already made up your mind. There's no way that you found and freed me and left those people alive."

A laugh, this one aloud. "Would it surprise you to know that I was not the one to kill them?"

His eyes flew open, and the mirth on his brother's face was real. Knives shook his head. "Your humans are responsible for that as well."

It was his second mention, both plural. His humans. Doc, if Doc had indeed really been there, but who-

Who else would have noticed he was gone.

"Unbeknownst to me, the woman put together a rescue party. They were immediately captured, of course."

The woman. Elizabeth.

Vash sat up – or tried to. His head came up, and the world gave a lurch in warning. Knives wouldn't, not Elizabeth, not when she was so important - "Where is she?!"

Knives' eyebrows twitched upwards. "With the twins, naturally. Though their affections have turned towards her bodyguard." Then his eyes clouded. "Wright took unauthorized liberties and has been reprimanded. I imagine Librett is more preoccupied with his brother than your pets. As am I."

For the first time, Vash felt emotion. It was immediate, and it chilled his stomach. Knives' eyes shifted from irritated to annoyed. _You are afraid for them, Vash? Do you think I went back on my word?_

Vash hauled himself up with extreme difficulty. His tendons and muscles shifted weirdly under his too-taut skin, and his nerves seemed hyper sensitive. He took a moment to rest against the headboard, not surprised to see that he, like his brother before, was naked on the bed, with a summer sheet pulled up to his waist.

He had offered his brother a compromise, ten months ago. But this was dictation, plain and simple.

Knives affected a look of offense. "Once again, dear brother, you have it wrong. I'm not here to tell you what's going to happen."

". . . then I will." Vash used his lone arm to push himself up slightly further, mentally eyeing the distance to his closet. To appear before Elizabeth as he was now – it would be worse than any nightmare Librett was putting her through. And the bodyguard – Sunjy, his mind provided. The swarthy little man that had helped train Elizabeth to-

Vash stopped that thought before it went any further. Sunjy was a good man, and he liked him. He would be able to protect her from the worst of the twins' gifts. It was no wonder they were more interested in him. They didn't seem the type to like women anyway – one of their characteristics Knives found intimately suitable.

"You're going to release Elizabeth, Sunjy, and Doc. They had nothing to do with this-"

"Oh?" Knives let his foot slip from the mattress. It made a dull thud on the tile floor. "Are you sure you can say that, before you've even spoken with them?"

Confused, Vash paused, and Knives did not give him the expected smile. "I think you should hear what they have to say. Even allowing that two of them are dead, your other pets still have their voices."

The floor lurched again.

It had to be a nightmare. It had to be.

"Only the same nightmare I've been living in since we saw our sister." It came from between clenched teeth. "I _told_ you this would happen, Vash. I _told_ you what they were. But you wouldn't listen. Your ears were stuffed with the tripe of _her _dreams, of _her_ rationalizations. A century of_ nothing_ but reinforcement from your beloved humans, and still you won't _listen!_

"Well, it seems you're awake now." His voice switched seamlessly back to the unsettling calm. "Ask them what happened when you stopped being capable of remembering. Ask them what they did. Ask them what they saw. You ask them what happened, and if you will not listen to me you will listen to them."

Two dead. Doc, Elizabeth and Sunjy had arrived, and he'd seen Doc, so-

_Are your ears still full of water?_ With thought, the stab of disgust was so much stronger. _I told you she formed a party. Perhaps you should check your math once more._

But who besides Elizabeth would notice his absence? If it was long enough, the next in line would be –

The insurance girls.

_Good guess._

They weren't permitted in Eden. On pain of death.

Two dead.

Vash cried out, throwing back the sheet with no thought but to find them – and unlike the nightmares, his legs were not strong enough. He tumbled to the floor, thankful that it was as close as it was, and as he tried to lever himself up once more, he found Knives standing at his feet, staring down at him with eyes as cold and dead as space. His expression could not have held more revulsion if he'd been looking at a human.

"You're so close even I have a hard time telling the difference," Knives spat. "Look at you. _JUST LOOK AT YOURSELF!"_

Stunned, all Vash could do was stare up at him, and Knives' lips twisted. "You won't? I can't really blame you, I can hardly force myself." His brother dragged that icy topaz up and down his body so openly and so critically that Vash shifted self-consciously. "You've spent so much time hiding that body of yours that you've forgotten what you even _are_," Knives hissed, but it seemed as if to himself. "You disgust me."

Vash used his arm to prop himself on his right hip, curling his legs a little and telling himself it was in preparation to stand.

But it wasn't. He knew he couldn't, not yet. This exhaustion . . . there was an urgent need, a craving, yet he felt neither hunger nor thirst. There was very little pain. "What . . . what's wrong with me?"

"I have been asking myself that for over a hundred years," Knives growled. "You are correct that the symmetry of this little spectacle only goes so far. I didn't inflict those wounds on you. And you were kind enough to leave my Gate intact. The spiders couldn't be bothered."

. . . his Gate? But that didn't make sense; they'd _wanted_ him to produce power-

"You fool." It was barely above a whisper. "Are you truly so stupid?"

Knives crouched at his feet, leveling their gazes somewhat. Vash could not help tensing, unsure whether Knives was going to bodily haul him to his feet. But his brother didn't touch him. "You are afraid of me." He said it slowly, as if it was nonsensical. "After everything that they did to you, you are on the floor in a pitiful attempt to rescue them, and you _are afraid _of _me_."

Vash tried to force a steady breathing pattern, denying the tickle at the bottom of his lungs, the exertion of falling. "Knives-"

His brother held up a hand, cutting him off. Now that he was so close, Vash was surprised to see lines of weariness around his brother's otherwise unmarred eyes, and – pain? The icy topaz disappeared for a moment as Knives pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Teaching you gives me a headache, Vash," he muttered, mimicking back Vash's own words. "Your Gate is inactive." Knives gave him a moment to process that. "You suppressed it in an effort to prevent what you must have known was the inevitable conclusion to this one last experiment. It did you no good. You were artificially kept in a transitional state for an extended period of time, and your Gate never recovered. Not even I can force it. Our sisters are giving their energy to keep you alive. Without them, you will die."

His Gate. The source of the energy that powered his Arm. How often he had wished that it was gone. That he had never had it. Yet this boundless exhaustion . . . and enslaving his own sisters, that was the price?

Vash felt his eyes widen. Without the Gate, his telepathy, his speed, his agility, his lifespan – everything that made him what he was – it was gone. He was nothing more than a leech on their sisters, relying on their strength for his survival.

He was as good as human.

"What are you going to do?" It was almost a whisper.

Knives pretended to give that consideration. "I would have thought that was obvious, Vash. You were the one who said it, remember? There's only one way out of this circle."

. . . was he saying that he was going to let him die? Or kill him outright and chalk it up to mercy?

Knives bared his teeth. "I tire of that accusation, Vash. Did I not abide by our agreement? Did I not risk my life to save yours? Do you think I would have done what I have done for _anyone_ else on this desolate rock? _DO YOU?!_"

Vash refused to flinch. "No," he answered quietly. "I know you wouldn't have. I'm sor-"

"_DO NOT SAY YOU'RE SORRY_!" Knives was suddenly back on his feet. "I am _sick _and _tired_ of hearing how _sorry_ you are! Don't be sorry, Vash! For once in your miserable life, think about _yourself_!"

Vash stared up at him. "Why?" He kept his tone straight and quiet, and he spoke what he knew Knives could already read in his thoughts. "I am not what matters to me, Knives."

"Oh really." He could sense the seething anger in his brother even without his telepathy. "Then why are you afraid of dying, Vash? Why does the thought of being reduced to human scare you to death."

Vash looked him in the eye. "Because Rem told me to take care of you."

"Don't you _dare_ parrot her back to me, Vash. Don't you dare."

"Because what matters to me is what you hate the most." He wasn't able to suppress the sudden realization that Knives might actually be jealous, and his brother's nostrils flared. "Because you will do as you want, and you want to hurt the things I care about. If I . . . if I can't stand toe to toe with you, Knives, then how can I be your brother?"

"Says the man who cannot stand at all." The disgust was back. "Tell me, Vash, has your selflessness brought you to your goals? I understand that might be hard to see from the floor."

His goals. Love and peace.

But those were _her_ goals. Ten months ago he had told himself that he still loved her, but he had to walk his own path. His own path had been compromise. He had moved forward with a plan to stop the humans' most grave atrocities and free his sisters.

And if not for Knives, he would have died before reaching those goals. They might still be out of reach, maybe forever. But it wasn't Knives' fault that he had been captured. He had even known they existed, he knew about the ship, knew the maintenance bay that was manufacturing those robots had been turned on by some process, by some person.

He had known there was a Plant there. He had left her, because at the time he could offer her no better.

He had overlooked the threat, had missed the theatrics because he wanted to. He needed to. He needed the compromise to work to save what was important to him.

Life was important to him. Preserving life was a goal.

_So why is your life so worthless to you?_

Vash closed his eyes. "Knives, please, for just a moment, can I have some privacy?"

"You'll have all the privacy you want once this conversation is over."

He opened his eyes again, though his ears told him Knives was stalking towards his closet. "What do you mean?"

"When we're finished here, you will go talk to your humans." Knives' back was to him, and he opened Vash's closet, surveying his available clothing. "I'll summon you for treatments, of course, but the next time we speak, I will have your answer."

His answer.

On the compromise.

"I can answer you right now." Vash's eyes fell to his knees, which looked even knobbier than usual, the muscles somehow smaller yet more pronounced. His ankles were ridiculously skinny, how could he expect such limbs to hold him up? "I will never agree that killing them is right."

"No kidding," Knives retorted, selecting a shirt and tossing it at the bed. "You no longer have a defensible position on our deal. But that isn't the question, is it."

Vash gave him a perplexed look, and a pair of pants landed on his legs.

"The only answer I need from you is the one I have asked you for over a hundred years. Do you choose them, or me?"

Vash stared at the pants a moment, blankly. Then he took a preparatory breath.

"Don't," Knives hissed. "Don't speak. You need time to think, don't you? You say that I killed them before I gave them a chance, but now you have proof. Proof you cannot refute. Proof you cannot ignore. They knew what you were, Vash. They knew of your efforts to protect humanity. Did any of your pleading help? When you _begged them_ for your life, did it make a difference? Did it?"

And suddenly, he was pinned on his back. The surgical lights were blinding. Every beat of his heart brought more adrenaline, more pain. And time was running out.

"-please." He dropped his head back onto the table, lest she think he was trying to break the restraints. "Please don't do this."

The woman was older, perhaps fifty or so, and her eyes were invisible behind round spectacles. "Sam, confirmation that all Plant utterances are being recorded?"

The only other technician actually present in the room was at his feet, juggling a corded drill and staring at his bound legs, unable to decide where to even start. Her eyes, when he could catch them, were sympathetic and full of wonder, but she wouldn't look at him with the doctor in the room.

And so she was the one he had to convince. She was in charge, if he could just-

There was a click, and the intercom crackled. "Confirmed, Dr. Shrew."

"Excellent." She tapped her handheld, and the box above his head made a series of ratcheting ticks. He immediately felt that same, breathtaking drowsiness, and he fought it, biting down hard on his tongue. Even the taste of blood was removed, like an impression. He couldn't fight this, not much longer.

"Listen to me! Please! I'm not a threat to you or the ship, I'm not going to hurt you-"

"It will be unconscious shortly. Continue, Candice."

The bedroom came back with the same jarring subtlety, and Vash found himself lying on his back, panting from exertion. Knives was still by the closet, calmly watching him, as if waiting for him to add another bid to their friendly game of cards.

"This isn't a game, Vash," he repeated, his tone deadly. "When next we speak, you will tell me if you have chosen them or me. No matter your choice, I won't make you watch. I won't make you listen. As damaged as you are now, you may not even sense it. I want to make sure your choice is not contaminated by your fear of the consequences. Your heart is all you have left, Vash, and since it's the only part of you that you're interested in preserving, you'll have to use that."

He watched, silently, as Knives crossed back over to him, standing over him once again. "You'll need another treatment if you intend to get anything useful done. Put on your clothes, brother, and we'll go down to the lab. I tire of looking at you."

-x-

Dear Thompson Family,

I know you were expecting another issue of the Millie Monthly. And I know that the envelope isn't as full as it usually is, and I'm sure you noticed the handwriting. This is Meryl Stryfe, Millie's partner at Bernardelli.

I'm also guessing you already know what comes next.

Millie Thompson, my best friend for the last three years and almost six months, left us yesterday afternoon. She died saving the world. I can't tell you everything, not yet, but as soon as I can I will come and visit, and explain everything. You know she was working with me on a very important project, insuring the conversion of Plant bulbs to solar and eventually fusion reactor technology. I know that she even sent you a solar panel, and it sounded like it installed fine and it's been a real help.

Our solar plants, they've been the same. They've been able to produce water and other necessities for all the cites that have been converted. And I think she's been telling you about the Plants, probably by name. She's – she was - very fond of them. We saw each one extracted and transported to a safe location, to live out the rest of their lives in comfort.

Something happened that threatened all of that – the new solar plants, the living Plants – every living thing on Gunsmoke. Millie did something amazing, something no one else could have done, and she saved all of us.

Millie always said, "Don't hold back in matters of the heart." I want to make sure you understand the depth of love that she had for each of you. She talked about you as if you were always with us, she judged everything like you were there to watch her decision. She did everything she could, each and every day, to make sure that you were proud of her. And she knew that you were.

So I want you to know that the decisions she made the last few days were all very difficult. She weighed each one, and she did what she knew was right, no matter how hard it was. I miss her terribly, and I cannot image how difficult this must be to read. But I want you to know that when I give you the whole story, you will be so very proud of your daughter.

I wanted you to have this photograph. It was taken in a crashed ship we found, I'm sure Millie told you about it. It was the first time we met Nicholas D. Wolfwood. He's the priest in the blue suit, second one from the left. That's Vash, to the right of Wolfwood, and then me. Things were always crazy when we were assigned to Vash the Stampede, but I never saw Millie smile more often or more brightly than when Wolfwood was traveling with us.

I got to see that smile on her face a great deal in the past three and a half years. She was happy, and she helped so many people. Her last hours were spent peacefully in a very beautiful place, and she wasn't in any pain. We were all with her and she knew she wasn't alone. One of the last things she said to me – well, ordered, you know Millie – was to let her family know what had happened, otherwise she was afraid you would worry.

I am terribly sorry that I had to do it in this manner. I'll send word as soon as I am able that I'm on my way. In the meantime, I hope this photograph gives you some peace. I will always remember her this way.

With heartfelt sympathy,

Meryl Stryfe

Meryl set down the pen, relaxing against the wall to ease her aching back. Handwriting was bad enough, but she hadn't written anything on the floor since she was eight and supervising her father from the porch while trying to do arithmetic homework. She didn't remember it feeling this draining.

Of course, she would have preferred advanced trigonometry to the letter she'd just written.

The ink looked especially glossy, just like it did when Millie would write to Vash, so she left it to dry undisturbed, and reached into her breast pocket, removing the envelope. It seemed like she'd asked Private Asouard for it a lifetime ago. It was remarkably uncreased despite everything that had happened, and she painstakingly rolled out the curves, until the glossy cardstock was believably straight.

Millie's teeth were startlingly white on her face. The camera had caught her in the middle of laughing at something Wolfwood or the broomhead had said. The priest himself had been captured with something like an actual smile on his face, rather than that insufferable smirk, and Vash was open-mouthed and laughing like a lunatic. She was looking up at him, to her right, and somehow the irritation that laugh always caused hadn't hit yet, because her own expression-

She couldn't remember what they'd said.

"But it was funny," she murmured aloud. "For once."

Laughing. Happy. Honestly happy. So few times, when they could let loose. That hadn't even been one of them. They hadn't even known someone was watching.

Terry had been there, he'd said. Out of cold sleep. Watching them. He could have moved even then. They could have been captured even then.

Of course, they hadn't known what Vash was, back then.

There were heavy footfalls, like someone dashing into the kitchen, and then a perfect silence. Meryl strained her ears, glancing quickly at the doorway. Elizabeth would call out if it was their jailor. Maybe Aaron had finally recovered enough to stand-

She heard a muffled rustling.

A struggle.

She was on her feet in a flash, photograph forgotten on the floor, and she sprinted on tiptoe to the doorway they had dubbed the kitchen, flattening against the wall before daring to peer around the corner. She could see the blanket on the floor, and feet-like mounds that she assumed were Aaron's. Someone was out of breath, and another person was breathing unsteadily, as if –

As if they were injured.

Meryl edged out further, trying to get a bead on the invisible 'door.' There were shadows on the wall, then she caught sight of something white, and then –

Then she froze, hardly daring to breathe.

It seemed like the engineer was in the same boat. Or maybe she couldn't. She was wrapped up tight in Vash's arm, he had plastered her to himself like he thought she was going to be sucked out an airlock. His left arm was a dangling, empty sleeve, and he had his face pressed against the side of her head. He was the one panting, he had been running, and his hair was now too long to stand up properly, wilting halfway down his temples.

He didn't say anything. He just clung to her.

Meryl stared at them, disbelievingly, and it was Carter who broke the silence. "You're still alive," he croaked from the floor, somehow managing to sound sarcastic and relieved at the same time. "Good on you, Eriks. Can we go now?"

Vash choked, or maybe it was a laugh, and opened his eyes. Though she didn't budge, didn't make a sound, he seemed to flinch, and those viridian eyes of his were suddenly locked on hers.

They stared at one another for a beat. Then another.

Then Vash let out a cry of disbelief, and suddenly Meryl found herself crushed against him.

For a split second, she froze once again. His chest was heaving against her cheek, which he had pressed to him, he almost had her in a headlock. She could hear his heartbeat, racing beneath her ear. The inside of his forearm was crushed against her neck, and she could feel the sweat on his skin.

He was alive.

Vash was alive.

He released her as abruptly as he must have released Elizabeth, she hadn't even had time to pick up her arms. They were at her sides, heavy as lead, when he backed off. His gaze was already beyond her, to the hallway. "Doc? And Millie?"

"Doc's sleeping," Elizabeth said, her voice subdued. "He's not in great shape, but I think he'll make it."

He was halfway through the door when he realized that he hadn't been answered, not fully, and he looked straight over Meryl's head, to the engineer. "And Millie?"

In the silence, she could hear that he wasn't catching his breath.

Meryl pressed her lips together. "She's under the big tree."

His gaze lowered, but he didn't look her straight in the eye. It was like he only needed to see her peripherally, still focusing on Elizabeth. Still expecting the answer to come from her.

Elizabeth said nothing.

Vash caught the doorframe for support. "Who else was here?" It had hardly any sound behind it.

"No one," Elizabeth replied. "I – we – lost Sunjy. Back on the ship. We were the only ones that –" She didn't finish.

And then Meryl found she couldn't look at him directly, either. Not when he was wearing that face.

She'd seen enough of that expression to last a lifetime in the weeks after Legato Bluesummers.

None of them said anything else. Vash pushed himself off the doorframe gracelessly, shuffling back across the kitchen and unerringly to the hidden door. Meryl watched the wall slip back into place.

Elizabeth turned away, her hand going to her mouth, and Meryl turned woodenly and walked back to the room they were calling the women's sleeping quarters. Her letter was long dry, and Meryl carefully used the photograph as a ruler, folding the strange, thick paper around it so that it would all fit into the envelope.

Even through the field that served as window glass, she could hear the moment he found Millie.

Once the envelope was folded, Meryl found her hand was shaking too hard to address it, and she carefully set the pen down, drew up her knees, and covered her ears.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: I heard from the feedback that you guys weren't too happy with major introspection, and frankly, we've already gone through it thanks to Knives. In light of that, I thought it best if we kept the thoughts to a minimum for the sake of flow.

I toyed with the end a bit (and spent an HOUR trying to figure out what year it was on Gunsmoke before I decided the information simply wasn't available, but thank you Inkydoo for guessing with me!) and I know that we might have expected a more relieved or happy response from the girls, but they've been through a lot, and they both know that even though Vash is walking and talking, their ordeal is far from over. It may seem a little OOC, but I'll address it next chapter, as well as what's happened to Librett and Wright, and why Meryl has paper.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

There were two empty bulbs between them, and it made him sad.

All their sisters started out that way. They didn't care to stay in bulbs beside one another, because what was physical distance when your understanding of the universe was based on an entirely different perception? It was simply a numbers game – too many stray brainwaves, too much interference. These Plants had been cultivated in an environment that didn't dare keep two of them so close together.

Too much of a liability.

But she – A-20034 – she was older. She may have been born on Earth. She was older than they were. And she would have been used to being in a bulb bay with other Plants. She would have been used to the telepathic noise of physical proximity, even if she had been isolated later.

She was even looking at them. Looking at him, the same way she had looked at him across the ship's network. The same way she had looked at him when he had withdrawn.

Vash took a moment to wonder that she didn't actually_ look_ the same. Of course, she had no mirror. Her understanding of her appearance was based solely on how she felt to herself, and what was reflected back to her from the minds of those observing her. She had not thought she looked a monster, which was encouraging, but she had been slimmer in his mind. Younger. Her hair was not jet black, but blonde, like theirs but duller. Her true body showed the scars from many prunings, the mark of where dozens of cherubs had been taken.

And she had been the lone Plant on the New Kennedy, so none of those cherubs had taken into mature Plants.

That was also unusual. It was more likely the crew that had been active since the crash hadn't had the staff or the expertise to successfully transplant a cherub to a bulb. Once the cherubs reached a certain age or size, they would have had to have been pruned to keep her healthy, and at that point they were probably discarded.

Her offspring had likely ended life in an incinerator.

Her expression was even different, her face was a little rounder, and held more disappointment. He was sure the transfer had been hard on her, however it had been done – he hadn't even asked, yesterday. It was all he could do to count them, and mourn Millie and Sunjy.

But the suns had risen on this new day, the way they always did. It had occurred to him, sometime during the very early hours, that there was a time he could have actually stopped them from doing so. That in all the long nights in his long life, he had known and discarded the thought almost as quickly. He could destroy those suns – but he wouldn't.

Now he couldn't, and the thought had lingered long.

Vash averted his eyes, taking in the cavern floor for a moment before schooling his features and focusing on the occupant of the bulb closer to him.

"Good morning," he said softly, and he gave her a bright smile. "Sorry, it has to be voice today."

Fron wasn't looking at him accusingly. She wasn't even looking at him; she was floating comfortably in the bulb, and was fascinated by a small piece of bark that was caught in her hair. She'd apparently recently grasped the concept of gravity and its application on certain types of matter, and was moving each strand of her hair telekinetically, watching the bit of leaf tumble to the tresses below.

"I trust you slept well."

Fron didn't respond to his voice, either, and Vash wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed. Too many emotions to pick through, and not enough time.

Besides, Knives hadn't been talking to her.

Either way, he kept his smile bright. And he didn't acknowledge his brother at all. _When next we speak_ . . . it could literally mean the next word he said to Knives. And Knives was so much better at the silent treatment than he was.

When Fron continued to play with her hair, and he did not rise to Knives' bait, he heard his brother's breathing pause, and that whispering, nagging sensation of need suddenly swelled and washed over him.

Knives was amplifying the feeling and projecting it to her. A wordless cue that his Gate would not provide. Knives did not seem to issue a command or attempt to control her as he had done the day before. This was simply a reminder to her that Vash was still unwell. To see what she'd do.

Her focus shifted to Knives, though her eyes never moved.

Vash unthinkingly followed suit, unsurprised to see his brother was frowning. But he didn't seem to be telepathically correcting her. If this was to be a daily occurrence, a new pattern, Knives would want her to figure it out on her own. It would be better if their sisters noticed the problem themselves and were given the option to help him or not, as they saw fit.

Fron mirrored Knives' frown, which unexpectedly made Knives smile, and Vash shook his head. "That's not a good look for you, sister." The bulbs were intentionally low to the cave bed, making it easy for him to take the single step necessary to reach the structure, and he leaned forward until his forehead bumped the glass, still looking up at her. "You don't have to, if you don't want to."

Once he was touching the glass, he seemed to register to her. Her head cocked, and then she sank closer to the glass herself, her pale eyes searching all the things he could no longer see. The bulb buzzed softly, but it didn't seem to glow any more brightly. There was almost no warning; her hair was brushed back by an unfelt puff of air, and then dazzling white energy arced from the glass directly into his chest.

It was _nothing_ like it had been in the lab. There the transfer had been at least regulated, and he had been lying on his back and mentally prepared for the pain he knew Knives would intentionally inflict. In the lab, he had been expecting punishment.

This – he might as well have been trapped in a conduit when a plasma cannon was armed. If his Gate had been active, it would probably have felt like nothing more than a hard shove. He had no doubt she did not mean to hurt him. But there was nothing in his body that was prepared for an injection through that wide a bore. He braced himself as best he could against the glass as he felt his feet very briefly leave the cave floor, and he tried very hard to keep what he was experiencing out of his eyes.

Which was just stupid. Even if he had no telepathy to speak of, she did. Trying to hide it was laughable.

Like she was a human. Like she wouldn't feel it.

Fron watched him impassively as he struggled to regain his composure, and there was no additional energy transfer. Knives had stepped off to the side, probably checking the monitors, but Fron had apparently decided one dose was enough. Whether she was judging his discomfort or could sense the return of normalcy to his Plant physiology was academic.

She felt they were done, so they were done.

Vash closed his eyes. Like yesterday, there was just a whisper of his powers. He could sense that Knives was shielding. He could sense her there, just a scant inch away. No matter how soft his thought, she would hear.

_Thank you._

Fron remained with her head against the bulb wall, and when Vash opened his eyes, her frown was still firmly in place.

Behind her, through the glass, A-20034 was watching them.

"When you return, bring the old man." Knives' voice was so unexpected Vash actually jumped. He took a shaky step back, with Fron's motionless eyes still watching him, and turned toward his brother. Knives had not noticed; he was scrolling through data on the monitor beside the bulb, and the tactile feedback sounded a little like crickets chirping in the huge underground space.

. . . why would Knives want to talk to Doc now . . ?

"He won't be able to walk, so remind Librett that I need the old man capable of talking when he arrives." Knives paused, then closed the application. The monitor sank back into its inset chassis, and the cavern dim seemed to creep in, rather than the light going out.

Knives remained facing the empty rock face, then turned just his head, so that the corner of his eye was visible. "I would advise, brother, that you speak with him at length before you deliver him to me. I cannot guarantee you will get another chance."

Vash held his tongue, and after a beat his brother headed in the opposite direction. Though there were exits beside each bulb, his brother chose the freight elevator. There was plenty of time to stop him, to ask him what he meant, yet Vash hadn't even finished catching his breath before the rattle of the metal grating and the hiss of the cables had become nothing more than distorted, meaningless echo.

Leaving the six of them alone in the Sanctuary.

The cavern was always more than half-empty, despite the majority of their newly released sisters generally preferring to remain in the dim and cool of the underground refuge. It was a natural formation, once carved by massive amounts of water, and the bulbs that lined each side of it gradually curved out of sight around the gentle U-shaped bend. There were two and a half dozen bulbs, painstakingly salvaged from the downed fleet over the course of the last fifty or so years. He'd never seen more than five occupied at a time.

Their sisters were learning about life outside the bulb. Some, like Fron and Pelu, would likely always prefer this to the outside world, but they were extremely introspective Plants. Others, like Tami and Aliya, were quite a bit more forceful.

In this case, it was morning, and they were still prisoners of habit. The humans would be rising. Power needs would increase. They needed to prepare themselves. Nidi, Wendi, and Jain were all inactive but present, eyes closed and heads bowed as they waited patiently for the rape that would not occur.

Not to any of them. Never again.

Vash greeted each of them, using physical proximity to boost his nearly nonexistent telepathy, and received a response from each of them. A-20034 did not come to meet him at the glass, but instead gave him a look that conveyed such exasperation that he actually laughed.

"It's not my fault," he half-complained. "I didn't know what I was doing. It's kind of a pattern with me."

The Plant did not look amused.

"You have quite the range of expression," Vash mused aloud. "Then again, I guess you've had the most interactions with humans."

She didn't really respond to that, and Vash left his hand on the bulb, rubbing his thumb over the absolutely smooth surface. "It seems wrong to think of you by your designation," he confided. "Will you choose a name?"

She seemed to mull that question over, but she made no move to join him by the glass, and Vash pressed his lips into a small smile. "Well, if you decide to pick one, I would be honored to know what it is."

At that, she looked almost affronted, drawing herself back deeper into the bulb. She crossed a set of arms, reminding him of her chastisement from before, but the way she was holding herself . . . she almost looked cold. Vash stared up at her a moment more, then went to the dead panel by the bulb base. With a touch it sprang to life, showing him subdued outputs. Her vitals were within reason, given that she had so recently been transplanted, but they were nowhere near the levels that she had probably had on the New Kennedy.

Regretfully he darkened the monitor, letting it withdraw back into the rock. "You can rest easy here, sister," he said softly, but he didn't touch the glass again. She was the last of the Plants to visit, and there was nothing he could do for her, so he exited as quietly as he could, using the small maintenance pod by the bulb and emerging out into the suns from what appeared to be nothing more than a whitewashed shed.

The curve of the Sanctuary followed the valley, so that when he stepped out onto the grass, the woods were in front of him. He'd spent the night under the tree with Millie, and his eyes throbbed at the thought of producing further tears.

There was nothing left to do but see them.

-x-

He left the prepared tray on the lone table, crossing the room one last time. His brother had not moved and lay quite still, on his back. His eyes were closed, and he did not flinch as weight shifted their mattress. He slipped a gentle hand beneath the small of his brother's back, watching for any reaction as he moved his fingers deeper, seeking out bare skin.

Wright did not wake.

His breathing was regular, but the taste of endorphins in his blood was dry and stinging. Librett added what he could, but there was little joy to be found in his mind or his eyes, and he withdrew his fingers, easing his hand from beneath his brother. His silvered feathers lay heavy and matted, and Librett carefully combed them into a semblance of straight.

If he did not wake by moonrise, it would be time to take more dramatic measures.

Librett watched his brother's sleep for a long moment, still stroking him, and the spice of the umbel paste wafted past. His eyes unerringly went for the tray, and a rush of fury dispelled any further hope of donating good will and healing. With a quiet sigh, he ruffled his brother's hair – to which Wright did not respond – and he stood. The tea would be oversteeped, but he hardly cared. He hoped it would taste as bitter as wrath.

It was cool again this morning, but not enough to show his breath. The air and the blades of grass, each in their individual, vibrant green, slipped over his body soothingly. The greens felt so much smoother than the burnt golden sands. So much more natural. He clung to the feeling as he approached their cell on the north, and paused when the air carried their voices.

Two. The others were either not speaking or not there.

Librett chose the west entrance, listening through the one-way energy field on the window before entering. The bathroom door was opening, but there was plenty of time to skirt out of the door's sensor before she came into the room.

It was the woman. He moved quietly around her as she shivered her way into the remainder of her disgusting clothes, and as soon as he could slip through the open doorframe he did, manipulating the tray so that his body was always between it and her line of sight. When the grey shade of her clothing and the pink of her pinpricked skin flushed his body he felt his feathers curl away from it.

The bathroom door was again shut, and the whisper of shifting fabric wasn't hard to make out. The short one was in there.

The speaking voices were also much stronger in the hallway, and he surveyed the main room critically before deciding where to move.

_He_ was exactly where he ought to be, and the old one was huddled over him like a carrion bird.

-x-

"My boy, you look as terrible as I feel."

Aaron Carter gave the old man a once-over. He hadn't been exactly spry on the ship, but he'd been swimming in adrenaline and painkillers. Now he was moving only a little more sluggishly than he'd been on the rock, where he'd been leaning heavily against the boulders, fishing maggots out of a carcass.

Not exactly reassuring.

The old man settled onto the floor beside him a bit clumsily, and muffled a cough. The rib was clearly still a problem. But he wasn't favoring his rotting arm at all.

Huh.

"So what happened?"

The old man gave him a knowing look, then reached out a reasonably steady hand and felt of the lymph nodes under his jaw. It hurt like hell. "As I told you before, Vash's Gate was unresponsive. I'm very much afraid it still is."

Aaron suffered the digging around as much as he was inclined before he pulled his chin away. "Enough."

The old man chuckled, though not deeply, and prodded the area around his collarbones. He said nothing about the rash. "We were able to find a way to shock Vash's cells into thinking there was Gate activity, and then artificially feed another Plant's energy into him. It will keep him alive, for the time being, but I doubt he has even a shadow of his previous talents."

A glance at the doorframe showed no activity, but Aaron lowered his voice anyway. "I should be able to smell that arm of yours an ile away. Why are you still alive."

The old man inclined his head, rolling back the blanket and parting his jacket to observe the extent of the rash. Aaron didn't even want to think about it, so he didn't, watching the old man instead. The doctor was very professional; his clear old eyes gave away nothing more than what he wanted seen.

Be a bastard to play poker with.

"That is more true than you know. Several days ago, Knives and I had a disagreement regarding Vash's treatment."

Aaron stared at him for a moment. When nothing else was forthcoming, he quirked a brow. Pissing off a sociopathic Plant didn't seem like it would result in magical healing.

In fact, it was downright suicidal.

". . . you baited him." And lived to tell the tale. That was just great. If they tried to kill themselves, they'd get resurrected? Just so that son of a bitch could make his point?

No, that wasn't his style. More likely, Knives needed the old man alive.

The doc paused, then heaved a sigh and continued with his examination. "I am not proud of it. I daresay even now I could not take my own life. Whatever the chemicals these caretakers of Knives inject, the effect is discouragingly persistent. As you've no doubt experienced first-hand."

Really.

"At any rate, Knives made the decision to save my life. And that, my young friend, I find heartening." He patted him on the stomach, and Aaron barely felt it.

"My hand is freezing, you know," he added conversationally. "You should be on the ceiling right now."

Aaron gave him an unamused look. "What's the verdict."

"Oh, we've hardly started. It could be anything from a neurotransmitting buffer to a simple analgesic. If they limited your circulation and rendered your kidneys and liver ineffective, that would be quite an excellent solution for incapacitation."

Trust the doc to use words he'd actually understood. "Organ failure."

Doc shrugged tentatively, another indication of the rib. "Combined with numbing agents. Not total failure, of course, or you would no longer be suffering from anything." Doc said it like it was supposed to be comforting. "You aren't terribly hungry, are you."

"No." If he ever even smelled that paste again, he was going to kill himself.

"And that would depress your metabolism. Did you sleep the entire night?"

"Like the dead."

"As did I, young man. Yet when I woke this morning- once my surprise faded, of course - a visit to the restroom was in immediate order. You have no urge to urinate, do you."

That sort of went without saying, and the old man nodded to himself. "I am afraid we need to get as much fluid into you as possible. And I am fairly certain you've been encouraged not to want to drink. I fear your afternoon may be quite unpleasant."

Because the last couple days had been paradise.

"Tell me, are you regularly supplied with food and liquid?"

The old man threw the blanket back further, moving on to his legs, and he managed to jump a little bit when he heard the clink of metal. "Doc, my pants are staying where they are."

"I'd like to check for circulatory abnormalities." The doc paused, appearing to evaluate the doorway, then asked quietly, "Did anything happen that I should know about?"

That he recalled? "Nothing I want to know about. In fact, if you find something interesting, don't tell me."

The doc merely hmmed and if he was honest, he wasn't sure whether the old man had obeyed his wishes or not. He had even less feeling in his lower extremities. Something he was very happy about.

Whatever that son of a bitch had done, if he didn't remember it, it hadn't happened.

"Is our Miss Boulaise aware?"

"Like she'd miss it."

"Ah," the doctor murmured. "She_ is_ certainly observant." The blanket was replaced up to his neck. "So that was a yes to receiving some type of meal today?"

Some type of puree, at any rate. "Three squares."

The old man peered into his eyes, one at a time. "And how is she faring in all this?"

"She's handling it." Barely.

"And Miss Stryfe?"

Aaron hesitated. "Doc, you know Thompson died, right?"

The old man settled onto his haunches with a shallow sigh. "Yes. I am afraid I do."

"Elizabeth says she saw Knives almost go down when it happened."

"Well, I suppose that's to be expected," the old man mused. "If one imagines telepathic contact as flexible, and one stretches it to another mind only to have it suddenly released, I imagine the principle is the same as releasing a rubber band. It's going to sting."

Aaron fixed the old man with a stare. "Why would he have still been connected?" Wasn't the whole reason Thompson went into her catatonia because Knives had nixed the link? What else could he have possibly needed Thompson to do?

Doc shook his head. "I really don't know. Perhaps there was something he wanted to ask her."

"You spent all this time with him. Why are we even still alive?"

"Are you asking me if I understand Knives?" The enigmatic smile was back. "I would imagine we are being kept alive for the same reason he didn't immediately kill Miss Thompson. This compromise was Vash's idea. Our punishment is therefore Vash's responsibility. Knives will require nothing less."

Fantastic. "Doesn't sound like Vash can stand up to him at this point."

"No. I don't think he can," the old man agreed soberly. "When all is said and done, I wonder if he would have preferred that we had let him go."

With Vash dead, they would have shot Knives. They never would have come here. Millie Thompson would have died either way. Sunjy would have died either way.

"Vash deserves better," the doorframe murmured, quietly but surely.

Damn. Hadn't heard her there at all. "Good timing."

Elizabeth came around the frame, a tiny self-deprecating smile on her lips. "I always try to be out of the shower before breakfast," she explained to Doc.

"Ah," was all he said, and though he nodded to her, he didn't even try to stand. "And how are you feeling, Miss Boulaise?"

She shrugged an eloquent shoulder. "Wrist hurts. Nothing unexpected."

He inclined his head. "And Miss Stryfe? Any issues?"

"You'd have to ask her," was all the engineer said, moving to lean in the corner and rubbing her arms to warm them. Then, "Damn." She bounced her hip against the wall, pushing herself upright again and heading back out the door with a shake of her damp hair.

The old doctor watched her leave. "I am truly surprised to find all of you in such good spirits," he admitted, soft enough that even Aaron had a hard time hearing him. "I did manage to leave the laboratory complex once, but the only one of you I found was Miss Thompson."

"So you did treat her."

He snorted, then winced. "There was no _treating_ her. I couldn't even make her more comfortable."

That might be a detail they should keep from the miniature wonder.

"I'm glad that Elizabeth was with her."

"So was Stryfe." Aaron debated for a moment. The old man _was_ their doctor, after all. "The ladies aren't as well off as they look. One of those invisible bastards has been toying with us. Mostly paranoia."

"Ah." The old man seemed to consider it. "How long has that been going on?"

"Since we arrived. It tapered off without much explanation." Then again, these guys were nothing if not persistent.

"Did it now," Doc murmured. "Yes, well, I know that Wright had his hands full with me."

Aaron half picked up his head. "You can tell the difference?"

"Yes, yes, of course . . . but you know, I'm not sure I know Wright's brother's name."

"Librett."

The old man blinked, then smiled widely. ". . . ah. I see."

Maybe you had to be old to get it. "Mind sharing?"

"If we are the performers, then they are the conductors. Wright. Playwright. The text of an opera is called the libretto."

Oh. Opera. Right.

"You two get cuddly?"

The old man half-shrugged. "We came to an understanding." He put a finger in his collar, dragging it down so that Aaron could see the bright red rash, just below the man's throat. "I wouldn't say we're friends."

Lots of _understandings_. "Elizabeth's in a similar situation."

"Is she now."

Aaron gave the old man a sideways look. "Don't like your tone."

"Tell me . . . when did you stop calling her 'Miss' Elizabeth?"

Aaron opened his mouth – and said the first thing that came to mind. "Shit."

The old man nodded. "Indeed. If I may be so bold, I don't think the toying with any of us has tapered off. I believe they're getting more subtle."

"They wouldn't know subtle if it hit them over the head," Elizabeth growled, re-entering the room with a thick envelope in her right hand. "Meryl asked me to pass this to our hosts when next we see them." She made a face. "_If_ we see them."

Doc lifted an inquiring eyebrow, and hers arched. "They prefer to remain . . . unobtrusive."

The old man absorbed that. "Your arrangement . . . are you in any danger?"

Her arched eyebrows twitched. "That is a very private thing to ask a lady, doctor."

Doc gave her a broad grin. "I retract the question, then. My deepest apologies for offending."

Her smile widened into one of the first genuine ones Aaron had seen in days. "I'm glad you're still alive." It was soft. Then her brow furrowed. "Though I'm not sure how, exactly."

Doc waved the stump of his arm in a clumsy circle. "Courtesy of Knives. I was threatening to kill Vash at the time, so I thought it especially gracious of him."

Aaron almost whistled. He'd figured there'd been an insult or two thrown. Threatening Vash should have bought him a first class steamer ticket straight through the wall.

Elizabeth – Miss Elizabeth – also seemed speechless. Then her mind caught up. "You wanted him to kill you," she said slowly. "Because it was Vash that burned you."

Noble sentiment, and he really couldn't fault the old man, but it was starting to sound like it was for nothing. If Vash couldn't or wouldn't stand up to Knives, it was over.

The old man let his head droop on his shoulders. "Not my finest hour," he admitted quietly. "But I fear for Vash's mind. Knives spent countless hours trying to force him to unsuppress his Gate. His reaction when he awoke . . ."

"You slept through his visit yesterday." The engineer slipped down the wall, getting comfortable and wrapping her arms around herself once more. "He was mobile, at any rate, and speaking."

Doc closed his old eyes. "So he knows about Miss Thompson."

She nodded once, silently, and they heard the water in the bathroom shut off.

"What about you?" The engineer inclined her head in Doc's direction. "You were unconscious most of yesterday. We were worried."

"I am afraid I am old, young lady." Doc gave her his wavy smile. "Knives and I worked around the clock trying to save Vash, and I was quite obviously in terrible condition. Pharmaceuticals can work miracles, but eventually, time catches up."

"And how do you feel now?"

"I could not walk to Knives' laboratory if someone else's life depended on it." He gusted out another shallow sigh. "It will take me weeks to recover. I am afraid, if the plan is to flee, I must remain here."

Two down, two to go. Miss Elizabeth didn't look to him, but she didn't need his professional opinion. It would take her and Doc to lure the Fuzzy Brothers to distraction, and that left only Stryfe capable of taking actual advantage. Quite frankly, she didn't have the height. And given the way she'd stood there like a stunned thomas when Vash had deigned to show himself, it was pretty damn obvious she had lost, at least temporarily, her will to fight.

There were two people she wanted to save, and now both were out of her reach.

If he could get his act together, they might have a shot. Not much of one. But anything above one percent was better than waiting to die. Even if Vash couldn't stop Knives, he might be able to cause a suitable distraction.

"That is what I mean by unobtrusive," Elizabeth murmured, her eyes on the far wall. Aaron didn't bother to crane his head – bastard had set out their breakfast while they were talking. Probably used the door –

In the women's sleeping quarters. Where Meryl was presumably getting dressed.

Fortunately for the diminutive brunette, she was bunking with Miss Elizabeth. Even alone in the room, she was nearly invisible herself.

"Thank you for the paper," Miss Elizabeth said into the room, in the same tone. "We know that Knives likes to read the letters before they go out. Could you take it to him?"

And she held the letter out to empty space, on three graceful fingers.

It took a moment, but the letter floated as if weightless into the air above her, and where his fingers had hold of the paper, a translucent sort of fog seemed to appear. He had not crossed into the beam of morning sunlight streaming in, so he was not otherwise visible, and so it made no sense when the fog spread through his arm, into his torso, down his legs and into his head.

He was tall, almost as tall as Aaron himself, and deceptively thin. His eyes were a worn red, and they were narrow, fixed on the letter. Ivory teeth were bared between trembling lips, and the letter crumpled in his fist.

The hair on the back of Aaron's neck stood up.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: This chapter got completely out of hand, so next chapter is a DIRECT continuation. More notes to come!


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

This is a DIRECT continuation of last chapter.

-x-

"NO!" Meryl leaped forward from the doorway, hand outstretched for the letter. She was in her grey uniform jacket, but her hands were bare, she was going to be instantly immobilized-

Elizabeth saw it too – she moved, but it was to knock Stryfe aside. The shorter woman was not easily deflected, snatching at the letter. Librett seemed to melt backwards, and in a moment Aaron lost track of him – and the envelope – entirely.

"Please don't tear it!" Meryl sounded frantic. "If you won't send it then give it back!"

Aaron cast around for anything to throw – and came up with the tray of food, on the floor near his head, conveniently slightly out of reach. He went for it anyway, even as he saw in his peripheral – always - Miss Elizabeth on her feet, her back against the wall with her hands pulled into her sleeves. "We meant no offense," she tried carefully into the brightly sunlit room. "It's just a letter to our friends -"

Meryl cried out, yanking her face back and swatting at nothing. "Give it back, you basta-" but it trailed off as her voice lost strength. Aaron knew she was going down before she did, and he strained as hard as he could, his left arm numb and flopping uselessly but at least in the right direction. He managed to shove himself onto his side, but a kick to his chest – and it was clearly a foot, the impact made him cough – put him right back at square one.

The sharp ache hit a second later, along with a burning in his lungs that Aaron knew was trouble.

Doc was no longer beside him – he was headed for Stryfe, who was in classic seizure position, probably hit the floor head first given the unnatural curve of her back. She was screaming into a jaw clenched shut, her hands clawlike and scratching at her sides. Elizabeth was braced in front of her, as if to defend.

Punishment. He was punishing her.

But for what? The letter? He was the one who'd given them the damn paper -

Aaron gritted his teeth and flopped over again, this time brushing the teapot handle with his sausage fingers. It was better than the paste; he clumsily rolled onto his back and yanked his right arm at the same time, sending tea flying in an arc across the room.

Paydirt. The bastard chameleon hid some of it, but drops of tea falling from nothing were obvious enough. He was only a few feet from Elizabeth.

The room brightened just slightly, and air rushed by Aaron as a blur in white and tan passed over him. Before he could so much as bark a warning, the white and tan coalesced into Vash, his bare forearm extended in front of him and headed unerringly for the teadrops.

"_THAT'S ENOUGH_!"

The tall mutant was quite suddenly visible, dripping and pressed as far back as he could get against the wall to avoid Vash's skin. There was barely enough room for Librett's throat, his feathers had to be brushing the hairs on Vash's arm. Despite the mutant's height Vash was forcing his chin high and head back, and Vash's body was tense. He looked ready to tear Librett apart.

Meryl sucked in a tight breath with a whistling wheeze, but Vash didn't so much as glance at her. "These people are off limits," he snarled. "Release her _now_."

Vash waited a beat before dropping his arm, but he didn't back off, forcing Librett to cringe around him. His red eyes were wide and fearful, and he too did not even look at the writhing Stryfe before he landed on his knees and laid four fingertips on her face. Elizabeth made sure she was well clear of the gesture, she had Stryfe's hand and just after Librett withdrew, Meryl arched off the ground with a loud gasp, her feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor.

Vash had followed the servant's movements with his head alone, and Aaron gave him a hard look before he decided that it really _was_ Vash. The correct arm was missing. He stood tall, no sign that he was out of breath or weak in any way.

As soon as he had touched Stryfe, Librett folded bonelessly at the waist, forehead to the floor in a gesture of total submission. For several moments, the only sound in the room was Meryl gasping around her sobs. Miss Elizabeth was trying to support her, and Doc had her other wrist, apparently taking her pulse. Only he seemed unfazed; Elizabeth was staring up at Vash as if she too was trying to figure out if he was a trick.

They could turn invisible, after all – who was to say shapeshifting was out of the question?

Vash finally turned from the wall, giving them all a once-over. His eyes were blazing, far harder than Eriks had ever been, and Aaron didn't relax his aching body. Was this really the same guy they'd seen the night before?

"Carter as well," Vash snapped suddenly. "Do it now."

Librett flinched as if Vash's voice had physically bit into his skin, and barely raised himself from his prostrate position before reaching out for one of his feet. Aaron tried not to recoil as the edge of the blanket was flipped up and a surprisingly warm hand was wrapped around his ankle. It didn't sting, but an unpleasant tingling sensation erupted in his left foot and began to creep up into his calf.

The mutant held him for much longer than he had Stryfe, but eventually he withdrew the offensive limb and returned to his full-body bow.

"You will not touch them again without their permission. Feed them as you feed us." It might as well have been Knives talking for all that Aaron could tell the difference. "They are guests, not prisoners. They are to have unrestricted access to all buildings except ours."

The servant merely trembled at Vash's feet, and it wasn't until the Plant stooped that Aaron realized Librett no longer had the envelope. Vash glanced at the addressing, some of the fury draining from his face.

"Bring them furniture," he continued, in a somewhat calmer voice, still looking at the crumpled letter. "Do not enter this place uninvited again. Go."

The servant jumped up at once, not looking at any of them and using the main door. It slid soundlessly closed, and after a few seconds Vash seemed to wilt, staggering to the nearest wall and sliding down it until he was seated as well. The envelope was still in his hand.

Stryfe was having a hard time pulling herself together, and Doc crooned softly to her, rubbing her wrist with his hand, though he was watching Vash. "It's over, my dear. You're all right now."

Aaron shifted his tingling left leg uneasily, but otherwise stayed put. If it had taken him a couple days to feel this bad, it was going take a couple hours to recover.

It didn't stop him from talking, after all. "Good timing."

Vash snorted halfheartedly, then seemed to shake himself. He glanced at the party to his left, finding Miss Elizabeth's eyes and only holding them for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For everything."

Aaron hadn't missed what was omitted from the instructions. "You can't let us go, can you."

A twitch that served as a shake of the head. "No. Knives would never allow it."

"I expect the topic of our fate will come up sooner or later," Doc murmured. "How do you feel, Vash?"

Strangely, Vash smiled. It almost looked as if he was genuinely pleased. "Like the world is falling apart."

Stryfe was slowly gathering herself, sitting up against the wall on her own, and Elizabeth put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Vash should have had the bastard undo whatever had been done to her as well. Her tone was all business. "What do you need?"

Vash was silent for a time. "I need to know what happened," he finally said, haltingly. "On the ship."

It was a broad question. Where to even start? Then again, Aaron figured Vash was probably really only asking for one detail. "Killing him was the same as killing you. We took a vote."

". . . you _idiots_." There was very little anger in it.

"Yes, well, not every human has the intellect of a Plant," Doc replied. "We care for you. You have already taken that selfsame risk for us."

"I didn't want this." Vash closed his eyes, tightly gripping the envelope. "You must have known that I didn't want this."

"We couldn't risk leaving him on the ship. He would have been converted into a production Plant."

For a moment, Vash stilled, then his brow furrowed in confusion and his eyes drifted open. "What?"

"Knives," Elizabeth elaborated. "They already had him installed by the time we managed to capture the ship."

Vash's eyes flew wide open, and he gaped at her. "They _installed _Knives? Into a bulb?" Then, "Does he know that?"

"Presumably." Doc patted Meryl's hand and released it to her, resuming his awkward indian style position. "I am certain he would have watched all the footage that concerned their treatment of him. He was certainly aware he was drugged, at any rate. Which you apparently are not."

Vash reeled where he sat, letting his folded legs collapse out in front of him. It made him seem much thinner, much more frail than he had been when he first entered. ". . . but –"

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Doc interrupted smoothly. "You were drugged and taken by the New Kennedy for purposes of threat elimination and research. I was similarly drugged and taken from my own ship. After you had missed an appointment, Miss Boulaise and Miss Stryfe noticed your absence, and went in search of you. They took with them Mr. Carter here and a man named Sunjy. We do not know how Knives became aware of your situation. At the same time, Miss Thompson was taken by agents of the New Kennedy for reasons unknown."

"The letters." It was Meryl, and it was thick. She was shaking pretty badly, and she wasn't looking at any of them. "The ones she wrote to you and Knives. They thought she was s-seeing him."

_That_ was news.

Vash just stared at her, completely speechless. Doc cleared his throat. "Knives encountered the group of agents with Miss Thompson and dispatched them. He found a second group, and presumably interrogated them before heading directly to the New Kennedy with Miss Thompson in tow. By then you had been installed into a bulb yourself, and forced to manifest."

Vash's open mouth closed into a flat line, and he gave a short nod. "I remember."

Doc inclined his head. "You were unstable, and forced into a transitional period between Plant and humanoid for an extended period of time. Thus the damage to your Gate and present condition."

"After they'd made you produce power, they stored it in the ship's batteries." Miss Elizabeth's businesslike manner hadn't changed. "When Knives arrived, they used it to lure him into a specially outfitted bulb room. He was gassed with the same inhibitor they used on you. Millie was with him. He only had a few seconds, so he – formed some kind of telepathic bond with her."

Vash stared at her. "That's impossible," he said flatly.

"He was desperate, and probably acting on instinct." Doc seemed unperturbed by Vash's response. "I have no doubt he never intended her to have the access that she did, but rather was intended to serve as his eyes and ears while he was inhibited."

"If he was inhibited, his telepathy would have been as well." It almost sounded angry. "Doc, there's no way . . ."

"I came to the same conclusion," the old man agreed soberly. "Therefore I must assume the mental ability used to sustain the bond was in fact Miss Thompson's."

Both women looked up at that, though Doc didn't seem to think he'd said anything extraordinary. "However, in doing so he damaged her brain. I don't believe the damage was done intentionally. He unconsciously compensated for her condition, which allowed her to dream, to wake, and eventually to take administrative control of the ship's computers."

Doc paused, letting Vash digest the information. Finally his adam's apple bobbed, and Vash forced himself to speak. "And what was her condition? Is . . . that what . . ."

"He caused damage to the ancillary vessels in her frontal lobe. He may have actually augmented her latent talents." Doc spread his hand, his voice heavy. "I won't lie to you, Vash. Once we brought Knives out of his coma, he ceased to compensate. She fell into a waking coma and suffered multiple debilitating strokes."

Aaron frowned, shifting his legs again as the uncomfortable tingling continued upward. For all that Doc was worried about his mental state, he wasn't exactly being gentle.

Vash blinked, and it was only then Aaron realized he was crying. His brain was still working, though; he glanced again at Doc, this time with more alarm. "Your arm-"

The hits just kept on coming.

Doc shrugged. "A minor injury in the great scheme of things. I'll live, Vash. Assuming your brother doesn't kill me." It was a little more pointed. "I think you can extrapolate the rest of our story. Perhaps you will tell us yours?"

Vash stared hard at Doc. "There's one more thing." Vash's voice wobbled only a little. "Knives said everyone on the ship is dead."

Aaron carefully didn't move, glancing surreptitiously at Doc. It would have been the smart thing, but there was no way any of them would have gone for it. Stripping them of their Plants essentially stripped them of their tech, but certainly not their lives. They had plenty of auxiliary power to get doors open and get to water, supplies – life as they knew it was over, but they were still breathing.

Unless the air hadn't been restored?

"Thompson raised the air pressure before we left," he said aloud.

Miss Elizabeth nodded. "She locked the crew out of our escape path, but she said the doors would all release an hour after we left. They should be fine."

Vash moved, but only his head. "Knives wouldn't lie about something like this."

All he recalled was a message on his handheld, he had left the infirmary right after he'd dropped off Knives. But if she'd written code to unlock the doors an hour later, it meant she'd written a program that was supposed to go into effect after they were all clear.

After Knives was clear.

Aaron glanced at Doc again, this time openly, and the old man merely sighed. "If that is true, then I fear-"

"-Millie." It was just a whisper. "Knives wouldn't let them live, so he made Millie kill them." Stryfe was still hugging herself, her eyes blank.

_Damn_. If he had, at least she'd died without ever knowing it.

"Vash, there's something else." Elizabeth licked her lips, tightening her grip on Meryl as the shorter woman began to shake once more. "I don't know if Knives is aware, but we – I – I did intend to kill someone. There were explosives planted at the base of his bulb, just in case anything went wrong. I triggered them."

Vash was openly weeping now, and the look he gave her cracked her calm. "What happened?"

"The lines had been cut by Asouard," Aaron cut in. He'd been the one to find it, after all. "Plant worshipper on board. He sabotaged several activities involving you and Knives, and used us by leaking information."

"No," Doc disagreed abruptly. "He was not a Plant worshipper. He tried to help us save Vash, but that was only secondary. He was very specifically interested in Knives, and the role he played in the Great Fall."

Whatever the little creep had been up to, it was no longer pertinent. He had been shot, if the majority of the crew that had been locked up had lost their air again, he was dead of his wounds by now.

"I wanted to make sure you knew," Elizabeth continued, steeling her voice. "I don't know where that puts us in relation to your contract with Knives."

Vash closed his eyes, but he didn't stop crying. It never touched his voice. "It doesn't matter. They put him in a bulb. They put _him_ in a bulb."

"Your agreement didn't have to do with his well-being. As you summarized it to me, if the humans hurt you, he would consider the contract void."

She received a slow nod.

"I don't suppose you specified citizens of Gunsmoke."

He shook his head.

That was a good out, them being fresh out of cold sleep. Aaron gave Stryfe a once-over. She was clearly still chewing on the possibility that Knives had turned her best friend into a mass murderer, and like Miss Elizabeth, she did better when she had a problem to worry. "Stryfe, do you know the details of this agreement?"

Meryl sniffled, wiping at her face clumsily with her sleeve. The shaking was still pronounced, probably adrenaline to go with the pain. "No," was all she said.

Vash's eyes half-opened, but they were quite empty, turned inward in thought. "I would remove the Plants, and in return give the cities an alternate reactor. He would create Eden, and I would use my reputation to protect it. Once the project was done, I would remain here in Eden to guard it. If the project failed, he would wipe everyone out. It was the only way . . . to save everyone. To save the Plants and the humans." Vash exhaled harshly, as if the idea pained him. "It's not going to work that way, is it."

"Vash, do you remember exactly what you said?"

"It doesn't matter!" Vash brought his hand – and the forgotten envelope – up to slam into his forehead. "It's semantics! Don't you get it? I messed up! I messed up and he has what he wanted . . . what he always wanted . . ." It trailed off into silence.

"And what exactly is that?" Doc's voice was deceptively gentle.

Vash shook his head, letting his hand – and more tears - fall back to his lap. "He was right."

"About the Great Fall?" Doc pursed his lips. "At best, he has proof that the humans of Earth would have experimented on you . . . as adults. Even just the appearance of being children would have improved your odds. The behavior of the humans on the New Kennedy doesn't mean that is absolutely what would have occurred had he not triggered a catastrophic event."

"Being children would have bought us _nothing_," Vash interrupted, his voice hollow. "We already have proof of that."

Doc's brow furrowed. "Do you really?"

Delving into Vash's issues didn't seem to be producing results. There was really only one question that needed to be answered, and Aaron went ahead and asked it. "Are you giving up?"

Vash had opened his mouth, perhaps to respond to Doc, but he hesitated. ". . . I . . ."

"It's fight or give up. Are you giving up?"

The weeping Plant dropped his chin, eyes fixed on some point beyond his toes. "I have nothing to fight with," he finally admitted, quietly.

"You have your agreement," Elizabeth said simply. "What you call semantics is the perfect weapon against generalizations. Tell us exactly what you agreed."

He hesitated, but obeyed. "I told him that I wanted to free the Plants by offering the humans an alternate power source. I told him about Kaite, and Elizabeth, and the insurance girls. I told him he was in charge of creating Eden and building the reactor technology, and that I would use my reputation to force the towns to accept the reactor. As a last resort, I would just take the Plants outright and offer to come back with the reactor."

He paused, but no one had any input, so he continued. "He told me the humans would try to take Eden. I told him I would encourage the government to run its own border patrol. He pointed out I would have to remain in Eden, and – none of you would be permitted to visit or contact us. We negotiated on that point and he allowed –" Vash bit his bottom lip. "Elizabeth and Millie. He said Meryl reminded him – us, really – too much of Rem." Vash didn't look at Meryl, who seemed shocked.

"He said the project would fail. I asked him to give it a chance. He told me if anything happened to me, he would wipe them out. I acknowledged that I knew he would. He warned me against betraying him. I promised I wouldn't. He reiterated that it would fail, that humans can't learn, and I asked him again to give it a shot." Vash gestured vaguely at the room with the envelope. "He kept up his end."

Aaron stared at the ceiling, frowning. "If Knives always referred to us as "the humans," there's not much wiggle room."

"Yes, but he meant the humans on Gunsmoke, right?" Elizabeth relaxed slightly against the wall beside Meryl. "He didn't mean he would repair a SEEDs ship and go back to Earth to annihilate the rest of humanity, did he?"

"No," It was weary. "He meant the humans here."

"So the agreement doesn't apply. These humans were much closer to Earth residents. Besides which, he _did_ wipe them out."

But Stryfe was shaking her head. "The agreement was that if anything happened to Vash, he would wipe out the humans. It's implicit that Knives meant if the humans did anything to Vash, as opposed to him falling on his own stupid face, but that statement could be interpreted that even though Earth humans did this, Gunsmoke humans would still pay the price."

Who were they kidding. Knives would interpret it however the hell he wanted.

"However, the reason he gave to wipe us out was because we couldn't learn," Meryl added slowly. "Yet we did the opposite of what the Earth humans did. We risked our lives to stop them and to save both of you, and we did it fully informed of . . . of your capabilities. As Plants. So his reason for killing all of us is no longer valid."

"Some of you," Elizabeth muttered.

"Never speak of that again." Vash's voice was suddenly hard. "Don't even _think_ about it. Any of you. If he thinks you're capable of murder, he'll use you to kill others, and when he feels you've suffered enough, he'll kill you."

The room fell into uncomfortable silence. Which Doc immediately filled. "Do you think that's sufficient, Vash? Pointing out that the humans of the New Kennedy had _not_ learned, and they were all killed as punishment, but that the humans on Gunsmoke _had_ come to respect Plants, and had changed? I understand that he thinks this proved that the Great Fall was necessary for your survival, but can you convince him that we also proved humans are capable of coexisting with Plants?"

Vash was quiet a long time. "Are you?" he asked finally. "If I wasn't dying, would you have saved his life?"

"If I thought he'd repay me by killing me?" Doc drawled blandly. "Of course not. But that has less to do with his being a Plant and more to do with my desire for survival. I wouldn't save Mr. Carter there under similar circumstances."

Vash didn't respond.

Aaron raised his right hand, just to see if he could, and he made a weak fist. It hurt. "If you don't believe it, he won't."

Vash was silent.

Meryl rose stiffly to her feet. Aaron was sure she was going to say something, but instead she forced wobbly legs to carry her right by him. He thought for a second she was going for the food tray, but then the room brightened, and her shadow vanished.

No one said anything else, and Aaron started putting his left hand through the same paces.

-x-

She lost track of the time, putting one foot in front of the other until she could do it without having to think about every move. It wasn't just her legs – her arms, her back, her core muscle groups were shaky and weak. She'd be stiff later, but it wasn't as bad as the first time she'd woken. Wasn't as bad as the first time she'd lost her seat on a thomas.

Her walk had brought her back to the big tree, then further into the wooded area, and then back again. Though not everything in the letter had been truth, it really _was_ a beautiful place.

Anyone would feel lucky to walk in a place like this. It almost felt like another world.

"How can he be so _stupid_?' she demanded suddenly. "How can he be over a hundred years old and be so incredibly needle-brained?"

The trees didn't offer much in a way of reply, and Meryl slowed her pacing to a standstill, staring up at the distant dots and speckles that made up the blue sky, through all those millions of leaves.

How could he have lived so long, and lived so much of that time so hard, and make that kind of agreement with someone he knew, he _knew_ was insane?

The same way he had nearly been killed by Zazie the Beast, her brain supplied. He gives second chances to people who don't deserve it.

"Augh!" she growled, throwing her back against the large tree. There was a somber mound of earth on the other side of it, but she couldn't bring herself to look. If she didn't look, then Millie was leaning against the other side of the tree, looking up at the leaves with her.

Not that Millie was the greatest source for advice. She would say that everything would take care of itself if they were just honest and truthful with each other. That 'Mr. Knives' was just scared and now that his brother was better he'd calm down and they could talk.

"Did he tell you why?" she murmured, letting her head fall back against the bark and waiting for the sympathy echo of pain from her cracked cheekbone. "Did he tell you in those letters why he wouldn't write to me?"

She reminded them too much of Rem, but it was Millie that had _been_ Rem. In Knives' dreams.

Being Rem is unhealthy, her mind observed.

Meryl half-heartedly chuckled. Then it turned into a laugh. Then it was downright _hilarious_, and she was bent at the waist and nearly threw up and realized that she wasn't laughing at all.

Not even Rem, who topped the pedestals in apparently both of their minds, not even Rem had been able to change Knives. Not even Millie-as-Rem could do it. She'd done even worse; instead of preventing the deaths of all those people on the SEEDs ship, she'd-

Meryl didn't even try to straighten, letting her legs fold themselves neatly beneath her. Her back was still facing the trunk, facing the grave behind her, and she didn't dare speak the thought aloud.

Stungun Millie, Gung-Ho Gun number 13.

Knives had taken the most pure thing, the most positive, hopeful, gentle, wonderful, kind soul on Gunsmoke, and even completely unconscious, he had twisted and perverted her into a murderer. The touch of even his sleeping mind was so malevolent and so despicable that it could corrupt the incorruptible.

Vash wasn't the only one who gave second chances where none should have been given. And the one person that had been put on this space rock to cover his peabrained back was long gone, even though he'd been there the entire time.

"If you can hear me, priest, you had better take Millie and run," she growled into the dirt. It was _not_ a polite prayer. "You take her someplace safe, and you get your bourbon-addled ass back here and _help him._"

Above her, stretched out languidly along a thick branch, the Plant lay her cheek against the bark and continued watching.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: As always, the delay was unintentional, and I hope that this very long chapter got us going again. I'd take a crack at the number of chapters left, but I actually started plotting them by chapter, and I've exceeded THAT by three chapters already, so I'd say we've got another ten before all is said and done. As always, no beta, typos exist, and it's so awesome to see such thoughtful reviews! Thank you guys VERY much!


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

Meryl hadn't returned.

It shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did. After Vash's temper tantrum, it wasn't as if any harm could have befallen her. No invisible guard would continue to punish her for daring to mention Millie. She had free reign of the grounds, Vash had said, and there was nothing else out there to harm her.

Unless she'd encountered Knives, of course.

Elizabeth continued to pace, unconsciously rubbing her aching wrist. There were obstacles besides Carter to skirt – a kitchen table, and two chairs. Each time there was a knock, she wasn't sure how he was able to touch the doors without triggering them, and if one of them spoke it would open to reveal another table, or a large plate of actual food. The last time he had come, it had been to give them the cots they had salvaged from the ship.

Apparently Doc's idea that he and Vash swing by the servants' quarters had been well received.

But that had been a long time ago, and neither Vash, nor Doc, nor Meryl had returned. The afternoon suns were starting to leave long shadows across Carter's legs, where he was propped up against the wall. On Doc's orders he was drinking as much as he could choke down, and he looked far less pale. He was fighting nausea, that much was clear; he would have told her to sit down hours ago if opening his mouth had not been a risk.

The last time their 'house' had been this empty, the last time it had just been her and Carter, she'd-

The engineer exhaled the negative feelings, stopping in front of the meager window to stare out across a small swath of the valley. It really was beautiful; framed by the narrow window, it almost looked like a painting of Earth.

Millie Thompson had gotten her burial, at least. If everyone on the New Kennedy was dead, then Sunjy-

He was still lying where he fell.

"If we survive this, we're going back to the New Kennedy," she said aloud, trying for casual. "There are probably a few survivors and a little goodwill may get us a long way."

Aaron grunted from the floor. She supposed it was acknowledgement, but it was certainly disagreement.

She turned, giving him an arch look, and the look she received in return was stony. "Not without a security detail," he finally replied. "They won't be exactly happy to see us."

"They'll be happy to see anyone who isn't Knives." It was probable they had no idea who had locked down the ship, though of course if they had regained system access they'd eventually figure it out. Something told her the infirmary hallway footage wouldn't be high on the list.

Unless, of course, they'd ventured far enough into the ship to find Commander Grey's body.

"I'll hire some contractors." Aaron eased his weight onto his left hip. "There's plenty to salvage if they decide not to play nice."

"That will take too much time." She kept his eyes, ensuring he knew she meant business, but surprisingly, he didn't back down. And it was clear he knew what she was really getting at.

"It's already been too long. If Thompson evacuated all the air – trust me, there's not much left to bury."

She turned completely to face him, narrowing her eyes. "I wasn't asking your opinion."

At her tone he cracked a smile. "Miss Elizabeth, if we survive this, I quit."

-x-

Doc leaned back reluctantly, half because his ribs were quite painful, and half because he knew it indicated that he was finished reviewing the information marching across the flatscreens, some in real time.

"I don't suppose this data reflects only the response of Vash's cells?"

He knew as soon as he said it that it was an obvious fishing attempt. This data indicated that the cells referenced had been exposed fifty or sixty times to small injections of Plant energy. Obviously Knives had spent the better part of two days running these experiments, but he might just as easily have used his own cells as a control.

Not that he indicated in the data if he had, of course. And that in itself was telling.

"No." If Knives disapproved of the rather clumsy inquiry for further info, his voice gave no indication. "But you already knew that, old man."

Doc shrugged a shoulder, which was less painful that using both, and swiveled in the chair to face him. Knives was leaning comfortably against the bench on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed. His expression was the same as it had been when Vash had delivered him to the lab.

Closed.

Of course, Vash was long gone. He stopped speaking soon after they left Librett and his brother. He had said nothing to Knives, not even a warning or request for assurance. Doc supposed Knives had asked Vash for something, potentially about his feelings on their deal, and the only resistance Vash could show at this point was simply not answering. It might be successful in the short term, but it certainly wasn't a viable solution.

"I guessed," he admitted. "And I anticipate from your taciturn expression that we have once again reached the same conclusion."

"What conclusion is that?"

Doc suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Come now, Knives. Haven't we passed the point of pointless games?"

The Plant's eyes flashed, perhaps with amusement . . . ? But then it was gone. "That depends on you."

Doc chuckled. Humor was certainly a better coping mechanism than the others he'd seen Knives utilize. "I suppose I earned that. But have I not yet made it up with my conduct since?"

"Your conduct since." It sounded thoughtful. "Yes, I am certain that your stop by my servant's quarters was purely philanthropic. To see you tending to his brother when it was in fact you who forced his misbehavior and subsequent punishment. I'm _sure_ your only intent was to lessen his suffering, perhaps out of guilt?"

It shouldn't be surprising that he was keeping tabs on them – or rather, Vash, Doc realized suddenly. The real-time data behind him indicated that Vash was wearing sensors, and they were tracking his respiration, his vitals, the amount of energy his cells were consuming – and apparently his physical location in Eden, in case something went wrong and he had to be found quickly.

Knives had watched Vash interact with them, and then stop at his servants' dwelling while Doc had tried – with only moderate success – to help treat the unconscious Wright.

"The one who should feel guilty is you," Doc shot back, perhaps more sternly than he meant. "You were in need of immediate medical treatment, and I was not capable of rendering it with you aspirating your own blood."

Knives didn't move, but the reminder of his injury removed all humor from his eyes.

Doc frowned at him. "Knives, you may be older than I, and far more intelligent, but you are as much of an idiot as your brother. You refuse to see what is before you to the exact same degree that he does."

Knives leaned off the bench with no visible movement at all – he was just suddenly standing, and he dropped his arms to his sides. "I can see _exactly_ what is before me." His voice was quiet and cold. "I see a human who will grasp at anything – including the weakest glimmer of a relationship with his jailer – in order to continue his miserable existence."

"Then these human eyes are clearer than yours," Doc growled. "Because what is sitting in front of you is an old man who truly and unreservedly wants to _help_ you. I could have killed you the moment Wright laid you down on that examination table, and the fact that I didn't is just eating at you, isn't it. You simply cannot fathom why I did not. It's what you would have done. It's what any intelligent creature would have done, and since you asked me here to review your data you recognize at least that much."

The Plant bared his teeth in something like a smile. "Oh, so it's your relationship with me that you're clinging to? If you want to help me so badly, old man, perhaps you could start by ending the lives of your companions, to spare Vash the pain of it."

Doc would have stood himself if he could have; glowering from the stool was the best he could do. "Enabling your fear is hardly help. And don't deny it," he snapped, as Knives opened his mouth to reply,. "You are _terrified_ of us. What Millie Thompson found in your psyche-"

That was about as far as he got before he was bent backwards over the console, with a steel cylinder beneath his chin, holding the collar of his shirt too tightly to allow him to continue. Strangely, Knives didn't look as furious as his posture would have indicated.

"Old man," he started, with a voice that was trying very convincingly to be calm, "My patience with you has run its course. Your value to me is inextricably linked to the well-being of my brother. You have just concluded that his Gate can never again become active without locking open and killing him. Therefore, he is currently as healthy as he will ever be again. What does that make you?"

Doc glared at him, then raised both his eyebrows in unspoken question. The grip on his collar was loosened enough to allow breath – and speech – and Doc took as deep a breath as he could.

"Your telepathy shouldn't be bothering you anymore – your pupils are quite responsive," he observed, his voice rough. "If you truly wanted your answers, you wouldn't be asking me for them."

Knives' eyes blazed, in a way he had only seen Vash's do during their desperate fight against Grey and Hoppard, and then he raised his left hand, which was unencumbered. Doc obediently watched, fascinated, as the Plant manifested a flat object between his index and middle finger. He flicked his forefinger, and Doc saw immediately that the object was quite sharp, really more oblong than rectangular, and it was most certainly a weapon.

His hand didn't glow at all. There was almost no other visible sign during the manifestation that Knives was anything other than human.

He knew his eyes had grown wide, and he gave the Plant a smile. "Thank you," he managed clearly around the cotton trying to strangle him. "I have never actually seen a Plant manifest something physical with . . . my . . ."

He let it trail off. Knives' summary of the data agreed with his own analysis. Vash's cells were starving for Plant energy. The injection was delivering it to them, but his cells were interpreting that as damage. The energy was welcome, the delivery mechanism was an attack. The route the Plant energy usually took was at the same time drying up, because Vash's Gate had been dormant for so long. If his cells continued to build up resistance to absorbing Plant energy via injection, and the path the energy normally took completely closed, then if Vash's Gate was ever restored, his cells wouldn't be able to absorb the energy. The Gate would respond to his need until it was depleted.

Like a balloon that someone untied, all the air would whoosh out. It would be July magnified many times. And Vash would not survive.

Yet Knives had just demonstrated a _different_ vehicle by which Plant energy could be channeled into his cells. It had to operate a different way, because Knives had conscious control over it.

"Physical manifestation," he said abruptly. "That's it. What path does the Gate energy take to enable it?"

The furious Plant stared at him, eyes narrow, and Doc realized belatedly that Knives would assume he wanted that information as a means of depriving Knives himself of the ability. "Dammit, Knives, if you can't or won't read my mind, then accept what I am telling you!"

"Vash refuses physical changes." It was clipped and angry. "What did she tell you?"

It took him a moment to figure out, and Knives never blinked.

He meant Millie Thompson.

"Nothing you couldn't guess." He was still angry himself. "She worried about you. She said you were a little boy living alone in a terrible city. That you were frightened and angry. And you have every right to be."

That didn't seem to be what Knives expected to hear, because his lips twisted as they tried to form two sentences at once. Eventually his mouth and brain agreed on a response. "The human detritus was incorrect."

"Was she?" Doc adjusted his throat in Knives' grasp, but the collar didn't loosen. "Knives . . . what happened to you was a terrible thing. Truly. I know you see this as proof that the Great Fall was necessary for your survival – but make no mistake, the humans won. They incapacitated you and your brother. By all rights you should be dead, by their hands or by ours."

Knives did not release him, his teeth bared, and Doc plowed ahead before he could be interrupted. "Yet you _live_, Knives. And you live not because of your superiority, or your intellect, or your abilities as a Plant. It is fact that you enabled Millie Thompson to do what she did, but you did not control her. And it burns you. You dismiss it as sentimentalism, but as much as you influenced that poor young woman to become a murderer, she influenced you in turn."

Abruptly his collar tightened, and Doc found himself clearing the tabletop at a rather high speed. Something glass shattered on his right elbow, but he felt no cut, and then there was the sense of falling before landing – hard – on the floor beside his upset stool.

The ribs throbbed, red and hot, and Doc shifted so that he was not putting as much pressure on them, straining to look up. Knives was still facing the console – and the truth of what had become of his brother – and the blade was embedded deep in the keyboard, where it conducted electrical current in a brilliant blue.

"Look into my mind." He said it gently, though he meant it as a challenge. "You'll find fear. You'll find hatred for what you and yours have done to those I hold dear. But you will also find compassion. You will find understanding. And you will find hope. Hope that Vash's way is the right way. Hope that Plants and humans can coexist, even if right now we're doing so poorly at it. Everyone has the right to live, Knives. Even you."

"It's not my life that should concern you," the Plant snarled, but it seemed an automatic response. He was staring at the blade he had created, as if he couldn't quite figure out how it got into the keyboard.

There was a heavy silence. "Have you told Vash?"

The Plant closed his eyes, rage rendering him almost unrecognizable.

"You need to. He has been terribly hurt. _Help_ him. He's in enough pain, Knives. For once, be part of his recovery."

It seemed he found the boundary of Knives' new patience, because the man turned on him immediately. "Do not speak of that which _you do not know!"_

There was the impression of something flying at his face, and then nothing.

-x-

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her pointedly that she had paid it no attention at all, and she patted it absently.

"Sorry." And she meant it. "Guess I've been hard on you lately, huh."

The growl ended in a wet burble, and Meryl smiled at herself. Yes, that was the silver lining. That she hadn't had to take up their tiny bathroom with a battle against indigestion.

It sounded like something Millie would point out.

"I'm going to miss you," she admitted. "Every time I see a pudding, I'm going to think of you." Or Ceylon tea. Or a typewriter.

Or the Bernardelli handbook.

Her smile grew tremulous, and Meryl wiped her face for the thousandth time. "I should go. I'm sure I'm worrying the others."

Some of them, anyway. She wondered if Vash had figured out that the servants had bitchified Elizabeth, and made them undo it yet. Of course, she'd shown plenty of patience with _him._

But she hadn't shamelessly hit on him, her mind pointed out, a little sluggishly. That _was_ different.

It was kind of hard to flirt with someone with Doc in the room, though. He was like everyone's grandfather. Everyone's tiny bald grandfather, with a cranium that seemed just a little too big to be normal. She wondered if he'd managed to avoid telling Vash about his arm.

Not that it would be a secret forever.

Meryl leaned forward, stretching her back and her hamstrings carefully before trying to stand. She'd pulled all the same muscles that had been pulled when they'd first arrived, and sitting all afternoon had made her stiff. She rotated her head gently on her shoulders, and that was when she realized that she hadn't been sitting all alone after all.

It wasn't Millie's presence she'd been feeling. It was one of the Plants.

"Sorry," she said automatically, ruefully stepping aside as the Plant slowly lowered herself from the treebranch. She was using a pair of legs that weren't quite formed enough to walk on, and it occurred to Meryl that even though she had three pairs, there was nothing insect-like about her. Once Meryl had given her enough space, she laid her weight down against the tree, reclining in a position that was eerily like the one Meryl had just picked herself out of.

Like when they'd been wearing Millie's expression. Like when they'd copied what Millie was saying.

She suddenly found herself hoping, irrationally, that Knives or Vash found a female servant to keep around the place. If all these poor Plants had to mimic were Vash and Knives, they were in deep trouble as far as ever fitting in was concerned.

But that was silly. Plants weren't meant to fit in with humans. That was the whole point of Eden.

Meryl gave the Plant a smile – and did not receive one in return – and gave her some space, turning back in the direction of the clearing. Surprisingly, there was a second Plant on the other side of the tree, curled up on the ground beside –

Beside unmarred earth and grass. There was no sign at all of the grave, not even a slight grade in the dirt.

Meryl couldn't help a small gasp, blinking repeatedly. This _was_ the same tree, wasn't it? But there was no doubt. When she had come here this morning, the grave had been there. Now it was like it had never been.

Meryl backed away another few steps, brushing into a spider's web, and she yelped – and jumped about three feet – when she realized it was hair. Another Plant sister was hanging from her knees from the branch above, and her hair trailed after Meryl's scrambling retreat like it had a static charge.

Meryl spun in a short little circle, backing now towards the woods, and the Plant sister that had taken her place against the trunk cocked her head, her glowing eyes lidless and fixed on her.

And then the Plant frowned.

Meryl licked her lips, glancing behind herself quickly just to make sure she really did still have an avenue of escape. They were just curious, it wasn't a human frown to express disapproval – she could not have looked more disapproving if she'd been Meryl's own grandmother – it was probably the frown on her own face, so Meryl tried smiling again, but this time she was pretty sure all she managed was a simper.

The Plant sister continued to frown. And then floated off the earth with half a flap of two pairs of wings.

Meryl didn't even stop to think. She turned and she sprinted in the opposite direction.

Somehow she must have upset them. Maybe it was thinking about Knives and Vash like that, of course they were fond of them, they were family, weren't they? Maybe she'd made too much noise.

But where had the grave gone? Was . . . Millie . . .

Had they done something with Millie's body?

Had they . . . brought her back?

Branches whipped at her face, and Meryl ducked, indescribably glad for her as she tore between the smaller trees and shrubs. Leaves that had been so flat and soft and delicate at a walking pace now sliced at her uniform like knives, and Meryl couldn't help a yelp of surprise when another Plant leaned out from behind a stout tree like it was a bulb base.

She broke right, ducking under some low branches, and a dazzling glowing feather drifted through the shadows, just in front of her. Meryl ducked down further, dashing into the lower brush in the hopes they were too big to follow.

The grasses were taller than she was, and the prickly bushes grabbed at her like tiny fingers. Meryl put her arms to the side of her head and barreled through, in what she hoped was a straight line, guarding her face and straining to hear anything over her own panting. They wouldn't come in here, the leaves would tear their tender bodies to pieces.

And then she stopped, abruptly, and Meryl realized she had no idea where she was.

Tall, green reedy grasses stood around her in all directions. The trees, with their trunks now only as thick as her wrist, were still heavily leafed, and she could no longer see the tops of the larger trees. An enormous, emerald green grasshopper leapt up from somewhere near her feet, and Meryl bit back an eep and hugged her arms to her chest, stumbling in a small circle.

She had no idea where to go. There wasn't even any evidence of which direction she'd come from; the grasses had closed behind her and they all waved gently, as if a breeze was toying with them.

Only there was no breeze. The air was deathly still.

Almost too terrified to move, Meryl forced herself to look up.

They had formed a circle above her, their limbs entwined and glowing brightly enough to burn any shadow. They grew larger, or maybe closer, and Meryl whimpered and dropped into the tiniest ball she could, covering her head.

Oh please don't, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry! _I'm sorry!_

"I'm sorry!" she cried out, and one of them snaked a limb around her stomach.

"Geez, short stuff, not so loud!"

She fought the pressure trying to put her back on her feet, keeping her knees folded and using all of her miniscule weight to keep herself on the ground, and then there was a very masculine – and irritated – grunt, directly in her ear.

"You're heavier than you look. You getting fat, insurance girl?"

She stopped struggling just enough to catch the scent of a cigarette, and then she was swept off the ground almost effortlessly before being set none-too-gently on her feet. The manhandling reminded her muscles they were still sore, but it didn't stop her from flailing wildly until it occurred to her that she wasn't actually hitting anything.

At some point in time, she'd screwed her eyes shut, and she didn't have the courage to open them. Because this was impossible.

She was dreaming, Or hallucinating as she died from Plant radiation. They were pretty much the same thing.

There was a snort. "Good to see you too," the voice drawled.

She was almost afraid to breathe, afraid of what might be in the air, but she couldn't hold her breath forever, and she tried to take in as little as possible. "Is this it?"

"You mean, are you dead?" The voice took a drag on the cigarette, letting the weight of its chest push the smoke back out. She tried not to breathe any of it in. "You wanna be?"

Just the kind of question a priest would ask. And of course not; she disapproved of suicide as a general rule. Not that she was sure this _was_ suicide. "Have you . . . have you really been there?"

"What do you think?"

"I think th-that I deserve a straight answer!" She clenched her jaw and denied any other sound to leave her throat, denied the water in her eyes. "Just tell me what to do already! I don't know!"

A throaty chuckle. "I doubt that. I've never met a girl as bossy as you. You can even manage our favorite needle noggin', not sure what's holding you up."

Meryl screwed up her face even more, if it was possible, and her foot itched to stomp. "I'm not bossy!"

"Okay, fine. You're the _boss_."

Somehow the Plants had managed to absorb how irritating Wolfwood could be.

"Is . . . is Millie . . ." But then she bit her lip. Of course Millie was in heaven. It wasn't like she had intentionally killed those people. No God could punish her for that.

"Is the big girl here?" She could hear the insufferable smirk on his voice. "I guess you're just going to have to open your eyes and find out for yourself."

Meryl hesitated, afraid, and she heard Wolfwood sigh. "You're more trouble than a barrel of demons, you know that?"

-x-

His brother was watching him, his unspoken question prominently displayed in his eyes, and Knives ignored him, glancing past him at the bulb. Fron was still there, the monitors showed she hadn't left the bulb in over twenty-four hours. She seemed to be completely inactive, though he felt a sleepy brush against his shields.

When had he put them up? Knives forced himself to relax, returning her greeting. She didn't respond other than to send an absent sense of recognition, and he touched the console, checking her health.

There didn't seem to be any unusual dips. It didn't seem like the energy she had given to Vash had depleted her, or that she had fallen into a reconstructive phase . . . she was simply inactive. As was her prerogative.

Vash didn't touch the glass, and his refusal spoke louder than his thoughts. _She doesn't want to do this today, and I'm not going to make her._ As altruistic as it was idiotic. Still, his brother did have a point. If he forced them to help Vash, then Vash was well and truly human, and he was no better.

He probed her mind, a bit more directly, and she gave him the impression of irritation. _Do you feel unwell?_ returned a more ambiguous response. He interpreted it as crabby.

Vash was still able to walk and talk, having not yet burned through the energy that Fron had given him the day before, and the less frequently he required injections, the longer the amount of time they could try to force his Gate without passing the point of no return. Once his cells built up a certain level of resistance, he would need to go back into his brother's mind and permanently entomb that faceless, weightless, lightless block on Vash's Gate.

Until then, they should probably begin working on that particular problem once again. Maybe now that Vash was truly awake, he might be convinced to honestly _try_ to remember what he had done to himself. The idiot constantly used his powers without understanding anything about them, so perhaps he should put his faith in that.

Of course, it would be relatively difficult to do without talking.

Knives stifled his own irritation, sinking the console back into the Sanctuary wall as his brother left Fron's bulb, looking down the aisle at the others. Pelu was resident, as was Jain, but there was no sign of Nidi or the others. Their sister who had yet to choose a name was also in her bulb, though she was active, watching them with more interest than he would have expected.

He sent her a greeting, which she staunchly ignored, as was her custom. She hadn't spoken to him since the humans had gassed him. He suspected she was deeply distrustful of this change, and she had not yet fully recovered from her trip across the desert. She was far older and more scarred than the others, and he had already accepted that she might never adjust to freedom.

Even if she never set limb outside of a bulb, he would make sure she was safe and comfortable.

Vash reached out thready telepathy to each of them in turn, and then headed back towards the main elevator without a word. Knives considered calling him back, then thought better of it. He didn't want this to become a battle of wills.

With no shields, he could feel everything Vash was thinking. Everything that Vash had hidden from him, even when their telepathic bond was strong. Vash had always been better with his empathy.

Just beneath that thin veil of cheerfulness was shame. Despair. Regret. Exhaustion that was more than bone deep, more than just the loss of his Gate. When Vash had given up in his dreams, there had been a taste. Now it soaked his mind.

No matter how long it took him to speak, Vash had acknowledged, perhaps only to himself, that he was wrong.

And that was enough. For now.

There was motion, from the ceiling of the cavern, and Knives glanced up into the darkness, unsurprised to see one of their sisters, lightless, clinging to the rocks. She descended silently, masking her thoughts from him, and only when she was within a yarz or two did Vash also sense motion. Far too late; she spread her wings to land silently just behind him, and as he spun in surprise, she allowed herself to glow, declaring herself to him.

It was Aliya, and clearly it was a game.

Vash got over his startlement quickly, grinning at her, and she reached up her dominant hand – and ran it through his hair.

Knives watched her, as fascinated as she was as she did it again. The effect on Vash was equally surprising; his grin faded instantly, his breath catching. He got that same damnable hollow look as he had when he thought about Rem, and Aliya hesitated before she did it again.

Vash caught her hand with his own, stopping her, and Knives could almost taste his anguish. A quick scan of his mind revealed-

_Fingers, working to the roots of his hair. Just the way Rem used to do when she had to wake him up._

_His eyes half-opened automatically, tired and dry and scratchy. He must have fallen asleep crying, why-_

_Legato's smile. His eyes were closed, but he was still smiling-_

"_Good morning, Mr, Vash," she said shyly, and stroked his hair. She was sitting on the bed at his shoulder, smile firmly in place. "Sempai had to go to the tavern early, so I'm going to make your breakfast today. I think today will be much better than yesterday, don't you?"_

Knives narrowed his eyes, even as Aliya raised a second hand, one Vash could not block, and repeated the gesture.

She repeated it perfectly. It felt exactly the same to Vash as the touch of the human. But it did not bring with it the echo of comfort that the human's touch had. Vash was staring at her, weeping. His knuckles were white, though Knives could see he wasn't hurting her. It seemed to be for balance, because in the next moment Vash fell to his knees, stricken.

Aliya, too, seemed perplexed. This was clearly not the response she had expected. She examined him a moment, though he could tell his brother was probably going to snivel there on the ground for a while. And then she knelt, like a human, and wrapped a pair of arms around him, laying her face against his hair.

Her wings curled up and around them, completely enveloping them, and she began to glow more brightly.

Knives heard his brother sobbing, but it didn't seem to be from pain. He observed them for a moment, then strode over to a console and brought up the monitor in his lab. The sensors he'd attached to his brother were still dutifully responding, and they showed him that energy transfer was taking place, much more gently than with Fron.

Aliya curled around his brother, and from inside the glowing pile of Plant, he heard Vash wail.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: So, there was sort of movement . . . maybe . . . believe it or not, we're very close to the end. I guesstimate I'll wrap up in six chapters. Aha, six chapters . . . anyone who read the PAA series will start laughing at this point, because I'm never anywhere close, but that's what I have plotted. There will be significant motion in the next three chapters, and then we'll finally find out what's going to happen to our humans – and their favorite Plant. Thanks for staying tuned while I finish this beast!


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

He knew they would worry, but he just couldn't bring himself to go to the cells. Lonely was horrible, it was something he hated more than almost anything, but all he wanted to be was alone.

No expectations. No reminders. No obligations. Someplace where he could _think_.

His eyes dragged over the valley rim, searching for a cliff that didn't really exist. With Millie so fresh in his mind, Vash wanted to sit and think where the sky was biggest, where every wisp of cloud or bird would seem so tiny in comparison to the brilliant splendor around it.

They would become his problems. That sky was all possibility, and his worries were such insignificant specks against it.

But the ship that had crashed here, over a century ago, it hadn't been concerned about carving out cliffs. The valley rim was better than the valley floor, but if he wanted to get high, it was either the top of a tree, where the view would be partially obstructed, or lying on the roof of their house.

And he didn't want to go there, either. Knives had not gone back to the lab. He'd gone to the house. And it gnawed at him that Knives hadn't mentioned Doc, either last night or this morning.

Vash's eyes ran the perimeter of Eden again, as if they couldn't quite believe that in all this wonder, there was no place for him. He could go see if Doc was with the others, but if he wasn't . . . if he wasn't, then did he have the courage to go to the lab? Did he have the courage to see what a day of not speaking had cost him?

Vash's weight tugged him in a random direction and he let it, meandering towards the bottom of the valley. To the trees, the places where the shadows were longest, where the least amount of sky could smile down on him. To the cool and the damp and the roots that seemed to cradle him as they had even when he was small. He did truly love the large tree. It reminded him of the one in the rec room, the one that had been so perfect in his memory.

The tree Rem used to sit beneath, and read to them.

Now Millie slept beneath that tree. Even if she was reaching out from beyond the grave to worry about him.

Vash didn't bother to wipe his face, letting the tears tickle as they dripped off his jaw. He had a good ten days' growth, give or take the few days he was sure it had grown at all. Millie certainly would have taken him to task for it. It hadn't seemed to bother Aliya.

She'd been Millie-disappointed when he'd pulled away from her, though. The same bright smile, with the same calculation behind her eyes. She was thinking she had not been effective, and it was probably not the last thing she would try before she tired of this new stimulus and discovered something else, like moss.

Vash adorned a false smile of his own, letting his wandering legs take him closer to the big tree. "You don't have to take care of me anymore, tall girl. Everything's going to be fine."

His tears were channeled by his sharp collarbone, trickling down his chest with no metal or grating to stop them, and he absently rubbed the front of his shirt, feeling the slick scars and faint protrusion of the sensor. Knives hadn't removed them yet, and he'd spent most of the last day in the lab. He'd wanted Doc in the lab. It wasn't as simple as his sisters helping him, then.

There was still something wrong.

It was his heart. And the big girl couldn't fix it, not if she reached out to him through every sister Plant he had. Not even if she bounced out of the woods, all smiles and cheerfulness.

Vash gradually rolled to a stop, still rubbing his chest. His body felt as alien to him now as it did in the shower, passing the bar of soap over his skin. He used to have to take such care, to ensure that his flesh was clean, that sweat and blood didn't collect in any crannies. That he carefully dried and polished any of the sub-surgery quality metals that had been used when things had been desperate, so that they didn't rust. That he paid special attention to the flesh around his heart, so that it didn't become infected when he tore it by over-exertion.

Now that same shower didn't take him ten minutes. Less if he'd had his false arm. It was a little hard to shampoo his hair one-handed. Not that he'd paid much attention to it. He grinned through his tears.

"I didn't realize what a mess I must look," he admitted to the tree, staring up at the great boughs and straight trunk. "No spikes today. But I guess you've already seen me at my worst."

He kept the smile firmly in place as he let his gaze drop, to the unmarked grave where one of his very favorite human . . .

Vash blinked, then dragged his arm over his face.

The grave was gone.

He dropped to his knees in shock, digging his fingers into the rich soil. It was as hard as the ground around it, it didn't crumble in his hands as it had the first night. He had no way to see through the ground, not really, but he balled up his fist and slammed it into the dirt, eyes closed, sensing for vibrations. There should be a spot where it was different, where the density wasn't the same –

But he couldn't feel it.

His eyes opened, staring at his dirt-smeared fist, and he wondered if he couldn't tell because she was gone –

Or he was.

On the other side of the tree, some brush rustled. Whoever was moving through it wasn't being particularly careful; he could hear fabric catching and elevated breathing. Aliya had just let him go, this was the most power he was ever going to have at any one time again, and he closed his eyes, concentrating. Whoever it was was small – about Wright's size, though he wouldn't be making that much noise, nor out of breath. Unless he was still injured . . . ?

Vash dared to lean to the left, peering around the tree, and there was no one there. Just shadows and sunlight.

Now that couldn't be right. He wasn't _that_ far gone.

Cold fingers closed around his right ear, and he was jerked back before he could so much as yelp.

"What do you think you're _doing?!_"

He did yelp, then, falling onto his backside as Meryl Stryfe released him. She looked livid, and also like she'd spent the night climbing every tree in the woods. He stared up at her, knowing she wouldn't appreciate hearing about the grass in her hair, or the seed pod above her left ear, or the slug that was starting to realize her shoulder was not the best place to be-

She put her hands on her hips a little stiffly, and he recalled how cold her fingers had been.

"Have you . . . been out here all night?" he finally ventured, almost afraid to move.

If anything, her frown deepened. "_Of course I have!_" she shrieked, and then the arms were waving in the air and she was pacing the clearing. "What _else_ would I be doing?! Why _wouldn't_ I want to be chased all over the valley by murderous Plants only to get a _lecture_ from a ghost about not doing what I'm _supposed_ to be doing, which quite obviously is sleeping in a haunted wood!" Her voice was rising in pitch hysterically. "How could I be so _stupid_ as to not realize that would solve _everything_?!"

She stopped mid arm-wave, then seemed to realize she was no longer even facing him, and she spun on her heels, bearing down on him as if the last ten months simply hadn't happened. "At first I was _glad_ he was there, did you know that?" Her hands curled into fists, and she raised them to the sky. "If you weren't dead I would _kill you myself! _ Auugh!"

Vash just blinked at her, completely nonplussed. It took her a few moments to calm down, getting her breathing back under control with a swallow. Eventually she seemed to realize where she was, or rather, who she was standing above, because she suddenly cleared her throat and tugged her uniform jacket down, which dislodged the slug. It fell at her feet with an apologetic plop, and she stared at it disbelievingly for a moment before her hands started re-fisting at her sides.

Her right eye was also starting to twitch.

"But . . . at least you're warmer now?" After all that excitement, she kind of had to be . . .

"Shut up!" she snarled, cutting the air with her hand. "That is _not_ the point! What was –" But then it trailed off, and her grey eyes grew slowly wider.

Vash gave her an apologetic half-smile, recoiling a little bit and waving. "Uhm, good morning, insurance girl?"

Reality washed over her like a bucket of water upended over her head. It started at the top of her scalp, then her eyebrows melted from their angry knot, her eyes softened, her mouth relaxed into a somber line. The tension drained out of her shoulders, her fingers uncurled, and her feet shifted closer together, her toes pointing ever so slightly inward as she retreated right back into Meryl Stryfe, Bernardelli Insurance investigator, faced with the infamous gunman, the Sixty Billion Double Dollar Man, Vash the Stampede.

Vash held the ridiculous expression as long as he could, but when nothing else happened, he let it slip down his face as well. "So . . . who were you threatening to kill?"

Then he wanted to take his hand and stuff it so far down his throat that his mouth would never say anything that stupid ever again.

She didn't go for the obvious joke – she never did – and instead her hands came together in front of her, a little submissive, a little closing herself off. He thought she might try to play it off as she sometimes did, with a loud and high-pitched giggle, but he wasn't going to get that Meryl today. She shook her head slightly, her eyes welling up, and then, strangely, she gave him a broken half-smile.

". . . Wolfwood."

He caught his reaction just in time, because the last thing he needed to do was start crying again, when she so obviously wanted to. "Nicholas was here, huh?"

Meryl stared at him, then she sucked her bottom lip beneath her teeth and stiffly folded herself up, so that she was kneeling across from him, her hands on her thighs. "I thought he was," she admitted. "Back in New Phoenix, when Millie went missing . . . it was his lighter. When I caught up with Elizabeth, it was the map, where we originally found him. Outside of the ship, it was one of the robots you shot trying to save the little girl." Meryl's eyes were turned inward in thought. "Even on the ship, once, when I woke up, he was there."

Just like he'd been there when he'd finally caught up with Knives.

"Do you think . . . it works that way?" Her voice was very soft.

Vash could no longer meet her eyes, so he stared instead at the earth. Ashes to ashes, the priest would tell him. It was just the universe's way of recycling. But a human's soul, their essence, did that get recycled too?

"He must have had something important to say, if he kept you out all night," Vash offered. But he knew he didn't want to hear it.

Hadn't Millie just done the same thing for him, through Aliya?

He heard her exhale loudly through her nose. "The hell he did," she growled, and then he heard her scrub her face. "But then again, if it had been Millie, she'd just tell me . . . the same thing," she finished lamely.

Vash glanced back up at her despite himself, and she shook her head with a tiny, sincere smile. "Her grave disappeared," Meryl added, almost cheerfully, with a tiny hint of lunacy. "Yesterday. Is that normal around here?"

Vash swallowed. He wasn't actually sure. It was always possible the terraforming efforts might break her remains down more quickly, but it shouldn't have just vanished. Not that Meryl wanted to hear that. "I don't really know," he admitted.

She just gave him a little nod, and the uncomfortable silence stretched into the morning air like a lazy cat.

". . . Vash . . ."

He shook his head, once. "Don't," he pleaded. "I'm sorry. I know this is my fault. I know I hurt you. I didn't . . ." But that was a lie. "I had to keep you safe," he faltered.

He heard her hands fidget with her jacket hem. "And keeping me in the dark, making me think that you had become like your brother, that was your idea of keeping me safe?"

Vash blinked up at her, taken aback. He'd what . . .?

"Don't give me that look." The grey had a tiny bit of steel in it. "In Hondelic, you walked into the mayor's office, and I barely recognized you. And I'm not talking about the Angel Arm," she cut him off. "You _humiliated_ him, Vash. And you wouldn't even look at me. You barely even flinched when you . . . you formed it. In front of people you didn't even know, that didn't know you." She licked her lips. "It was like it wasn't even . . . you."

He closed his eyes.

Three of them. Armed, but just standard issue semi automatic pistols. No armor, not the way they were shifting in the creaking wooden chairs. He struck the match on the wall, lighting the firecracker string and tossing it nonchalantly across the open doorway to the stairs, on the opposite side, where they slid down the first dozen with nothing more than a hiss of paper on wood and the sizzle of the burning fuse.

All three jumped up at the noise, and as a well-trained unit, they immediately came pouring out of the doorframe. To his credit, the second one looked his way, but it was long after sunset, and the shadows in the hallway were more than sufficient. As soon as they passed, he stepped off the wall, crossing the much better lit outer office. Muffled voices carried from inside the room, and Vash put his mechanical hand on the knob, steeling himself.

Then he knocked, politely, and let himself smoothly into the room.

It looked like most of the city council was still there, and the mayor as well. The insurance girls were seated in the center of a horseshoe of desks, and it was clear it was not going in their favor. Millie Thompson was sitting up especially straight, as she did when she wanted to be supportive and tough-looking, and Meryl was wearing her shit-eating smile.

He only listened peripherally, closing the door behind him, and whatever the mayor was saying trailed off as he took in the red coat, the spikey blonde hair, and the six shooter that Vash ensured everyone could see.

He gave them a polite smile. "Good evening." He didn't bother to deepen his voice. There wasn't a need. "I do apologize for the unannounced visit, but I understand that Hondelic is choosing to refuse the Plant retrofit."

The last man on the right of the horseshoe – closest to Meryl – stiffened, and Vash identified him as the town's sheriff. He didn't draw, likely because he thought his backup was in the office behind him, but he and the mayor exchanged a look as the council started to murmur in alarm.

"Now, see here," the mayor blustered, spreading his hands in appeal to the insurance girls, who had frozen in their seats. "Theatrics aren't going to change our minds –"

"Oh, I assure you, I am Vash the Stampede," he cut in apologetically, and the room became pindrop silent. "I've come to tell you that it is your prerogative to refuse the reactor. But, I will be taking the town's Plant this evening. If you resist, I'll take the town as well."

The sheriff swaggered to his feet, drawing his gun and leveling it at his eyes. He was almost two yarz away, plenty of distance to react. "Son, you're not taking anything anywhere. How did you get in here, anyway?"

Vash let his polite demeanor fade, leaving only the cold. He didn't dare look at the girls. "I'd prefer to do this without casualties," he tried, one last time. "You should listen to these representatives of Bernardelli, and accept their offer."

"Deputies!" the sheriff roared, and Vash listened for their footsteps. There was nothing else for it.

"You're under arrest-"

He raised his empty right hand, crossing it over his chest before tearing open the panel on his coat. He tossed it aside in one motion, timing it to ensure that when the door burst open the flutter of geranium red was at its fullest. His right arm naturally fell with the gesture, and he plucked the Colt from its holster, ensuring that everyone could see it was being held to the side, pointed not at the council but at the ceiling.

The deputies had little space to fan around him and he agreeably stepped forward, ensuring that the insurance girls were not in the line of fire. The sheriff's gun was starting to shake.

Vash waited a beat, but outside of gasps of alarm, no one was telling him they were going to let him take the Plant. He let his eyes blaze with as much anger as he could summon around the deep, sick feeling in his gut, and he concentrated on the weapon in his hand.

The Gate in the Colt responded beautifully, as quickly as it had in his fight with Knives. When he wasn't afraid of it, when he just relaxed, it was much easier. It didn't even hurt. He wanted no charge at all and he fired into the air the second the weapon was formed, knowing he could get it in front of the girls if the deputies went crazy-

But they were as terrified as the sheriff. There was a blinding flash, red, the walls around him in July disintegrating, and Vash forced his mind to see the present, forced his arm back into an arm, forced the Colt back into a Colt.

Even with no time to charge, and no emotion behind it, he could see immediately that he'd _way_ overdone it. The roof was gone, along with three inches of the wall in a perfect circle around them. He was tall enough to see over it, to see that every building that was as tall as the city hall was similarly devoid of a roof, for blocks. A soaking wet head, covered with suds, peered over the neighboring wall at them, and Vash winced, dropping his Colt into its holster.

"Whoops," he offered apologetically.

The insurance girls hadn't moved, still seated exactly where they were, and with his peripheral vision Vash could see that Meryl's hand was inside her cloak. Vash chose not to look at them anymore.

"I'll be taking the Plant now," he continued into the silence, punctuated by the metallic rattling of the firearms behind him. "I expect you have about ten minutes to sign your contract before it becomes void."

The mayor had fallen to his knees, hands clasped before him as if in prayer, and the sheriff's palms were so slicked with sweat he wouldn't be able to handle the gun. Vash had intentionally moved so that the sheriff and at least two of the council members were in the deputies' line of fire, and after they looked at their boss, and the bloodless faces of their council members, he heard their guns clatter to the floor.

It almost made him wince again, but none of them went off.

"O-okay, alright, yes, of course!" the mayor agreed, nodding quickly. "Y-you can take whatever you w-want, Mr. Stampede! Just please, don't hurt the townsfolk. We'll g-give you an escort to the plant! Anything you want!"

Vash let a slow smile spread across his face, and he measured his strides, crossing the room deliberately without making it seem like he was moving slowly so as not to startle them. "I'm glad you were able to come to a decision, mayor," he congratulated the man, and he offered his hand to help him stand.

The mayor recoiled back from his outstretched hand, and Vash realized he'd extended the right one. His Angel arm. Behind him, he heard one of the insurance girls smother a sound.

It was already too late, so he left the gesture there, his hand even with the man's face, and eventually the mayor reached out a shaking hand. It was torturous, but eventually the man screwed up his courage and grasped him tightly, as if he expected his hand to be burned to cinders. Vash hauled him to his feet gently, pumping his arm in an exaggerated handshake so he'd get the idea, and trying not to give away that he had caught a whiff of urine.

"I'll just wait downstairs," he suggested, releasing the man's hand and turning – again deliberately – to grab his coat, which had settled across the back of an unused chair. He didn't look at anyone in the room again. "Don't take too long."

Vash opened his eyes, taking in the tree, the glaring morning light, the tiny human kneeling across from him. Yes, it must have looked like Knives to her. It certainly hadn't been him.

As soon as he'd gotten to the lobby he'd thrown up.

"It was me," he said levelly. "I knew . . . I'd only have to do it once."

Meryl looked at him – really looked at him – and he refused to flinch from her examination. "Vash . . . what if the military comes here, to Eden? Then it won't matter what you're willing to do once. It'll be . . .it'll be what Knives is willing to do once and for all."

He felt his mouth open, his tongue ready itself to reply . . . but what was there to say? "Short girl-"

"My name is Meryl, Vash, and it wouldn't kill you to use it," she snapped suddenly. "It's Meryl Stryfe. I am more than an insurance investigator. I am more than _short_. I believe that we can all live together and work through our differences. I believe that no one has the right to take the life of another. And I believe in _you_, you broom-headed moron."

She narrowed her eyes, daring him to respond with his usual levity, and he just blinked at her. This didn't seem to be the response she was looking for. "Do I have to spell it out?" she growled to herself. "You're Vash the Stampede. You pursue love and peace. And there's not much of either going on around here, in case you haven't noticed," she added heatedly.

"You're more than a gunman, Vash. You're more than a stupid Plant. You're a force of nature, remember? You're Doitzel Kaiser Whateverthehell it was. So you don't have your gun. So you don't have your armor. Your Plant powers were always off the table, remember? So what's so different about this situation, huh? Why give up now? Why give up when you're so close?"

Vash almost gaped at her. Her voice was strong and sure, not shaking like it had been earlier. Her hands were splayed out on her knees, and her eyes were earnest.

"That's what Wolfwood spent all night telling me," she said suddenly, as if she'd just put it together herself. "He did the same damn thing Terry Asouard did. He reminded me who I am."

She seemed taken aback by her own realization, and Vash didn't know what to say. She was . . . well, she was right, it wasn't the first time he was weak, without the Colt, unwilling to use his Angel Arm. It had never stopped him before.

But his opponents had always been human before. Had always been someone he could handle. Had always been someone who had been _wrong_, or someone he could compromise with. There was no compromise now. The humans would have feared them, would have attacked them – and Rem would have protected them, as much as she could have.

But Knives wouldn't see it that way. Didn't see it that way.

"I don't know why he's not talking to you," Meryl wondered aloud. "Maybe he doesn't recognize you either."

She waited a beat, but Vash could think of no response, and then Meryl leaned forward, closing the distance between them. He froze, and her shining eyes came nearer, and nearer – and then she straightened her legs, and stood.

"I'm going back to jail, and I'm going to have some breakfast," she declared, as if to a group of onlookers. "I certainly hope Vash decides to visit. And . . . I hope he does it soon."

-x-

The room still wasn't clean.

Librett took on the speckled white of the tiled floors and the utilitarian walls, sinking against them as the door opened. It hadn't been enough time, there had been too much damage, and he didn't like it when they wasted things –

But it wasn't Master Knives.

He watched, perfectly silent, as Master Vash hesitated in the doorframe. As if he, too, wanted to blend in, disappear. As if he too had something to fear.

Though he knew Master Vash knew he was there, he did not release the colors behind him, he just watched, and waited for his orders. There would be orders. The main laboratory was still peppered with shattered glass, broken machinery, and of course the piles that he wasn't finished sorting through. What they could salvage, and what would have to become raw materials once again.

But the gentle master didn't acknowledge him. He didn't seem upset that the laboratory was still unclean. He came in slowly, on the balls of his feet, moving as if in a dream. He took in the monitors, intact and broken both, and went to their preferred console, gesturing at the screen. He stayed there so long that Librett finally felt that perhaps he should continue, so long as he was quiet.

Master Vash didn't respond at all when he picked up the broom, and they remained that way, each in their work, for some time. He pushed a stool closer to the workbench and though Master Vash never spoke, when next he dared to look the gesture had been accepted. His search for the other half of a centrifuge brought him into the back room, and Librett cast his eyes there to the old one, laid flat upon a table.

His sleep could not be disturbed, like the sleep of his brother. The rules were different, but they were really the same. Humans were not sufficient. Humans were not meant to live in the presence of Plants. Sooner or later, humans made errors. They made mistakes. They disobeyed.

And they had to be punished.

None of the missing pieces of centrifuge were in the old one, so Librett left him alone, taking stock. There was less damage here, though what had been done was no less severe, and he had completed all the tasks that could be done quietly before he realized that Master Vash had come into the room behind him.

The master headed straight to the old one, his eyes blue-green and cool. He reached out and touched the old human, but of course he did not wake. The master studied him, then circled to the old one's right, fingering the empty sleeve. He pushed it up onto the remnant, then far higher, onto the old one's shoulder, staring at the scars there for several moments before tucking the cloth back down.

He nor his brother had touched the old one there. There was no rash. There was no reason to be frightened, yet every move Master Vash was making was setting Librett's teeth on edge.

Master Vash said something quiet, laying his hand gently on the old human's lacerated face, and then he strode past him, purposefully, to the apothecary beyond. Librett took the opportunity to escape back to the main lab, but there was no telltale crash. There was no shouting, no raging. There was no sound at all. Master Vash reappeared only a few moments later, his hand in his pocket, and without a word he exited the lab.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: Hey look! Another chapter! In which . . well, some stuff happened. Vash might have a plan! Or not, he does tend to wing things . . . The next two will move right along as well, I'm getting excited to finally be getting close to the main event! Thanks much for the reviews, I'm glad to see the style change was a positive one for you guys! Not sure when I'll get some more time to dedicate to this, but hopefully it'll be soon. Otherwise I think Mouse would hunt me down. = )


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

Meryl was indescribably glad that the only one in the kitchen was Carter. He looked much better. In fact, he was sitting at the kitchen table. They had one, with four chairs. There were glasses on it, containing either water or that weird tea, surrounding a large round plate of what looked quite a bit like meat and cheese.

And, in her first stroke of luck since coming to this god-forsaken place, no sign of Elizabeth. Or Vash.

He raised his eyebrows at the sight of her, but made no move to stand, and she pressed her lips into something like a smile and tentatively took the chair opposite him. It was plain, silver aluminum, very light, and held her weight no problem. It was also chilly, as the air had been every morning before, and she huddled up, folding her arms over the table and sinking her face into them.

If it were warm enough, she would have preferred to melt right through the floor, and continue on to the planet's core.

Aaron let her hide for a while, then she heard motion. He popped something into his mouth, and her stomach rumbled rebelliously.

"You were out a while," Aaron observed. "You look rough."

Meryl groaned into her arms. As if the slug hadn't been bad enough, she was probably covered in dirt and leaves. She probably needed a shower more than Elizabeth did. But that would have to wait; she could hear the water running in their miniscule bathroom. And she was way too cold.

Stupid. _Stupid._

"You okay?"

No. No, she was definitely not. "I got chased by plants and yelled at by a dead man." She picked up her head, because suddenly it was important that he understand. "I mean, an actual dead guy. He's been dead for a while," her mouth added helpfully, while her brain slapped a hand over its face.

Meryl rolled her eyes again and let her head drop. "Nevermind. I'm fine."

Carter finished chewing whatever actual food he was eating, then looked at the plate pointedly, and she dragged herself into a proper sitting position. It really _was_ meat and cheese, and she was famished. She selected a finger-food sized chunk of something that was a color other than white, and ate it as delicately as she could.

It was _delicious._

"How're you?" she asked, around a piece of cheese she didn't remember picking up.

Carter looked relatively amused. "I'll live," he confirmed. "Back is killing me. Doc was probably right about what happened." He selected his own piece of cheese. "So, chased by Plants and seeing ghosts. You sure you're all right?"

"God no," she admitted, a little surprised at herself, and primly wolfed down another wedge of cheese. "I ran into Vash, by where Millie's grave used to be. It's gone, by the way. Completely vanished." Vash hadn't offered much in the way of explanation, either, come to think of it. Which she didn't want to do. Meryl groaned again. "I said such stupid stuff to him." _Stupid!_

Carter adopted the look all men got when women said something like that, and Meryl was once again glad that Elizabeth wasn't there. She would have handled everything with aplomb. "Did he come back this way?"

Carter shook his head, and they both turned their heads as the sounds of running water cut off. Meryl took the opportunity to snag another piece of meat, surprised to see that the plate was now half empty. She redirected her fingers to an available glass of water and drank greedily to avoid speaking.

Aaron didn't seem to mind. "Did you happen to see Doc while you were out?"

She shook her head, then took a breath to speak and choked a bit on the water. He withstood her coughing fit with dignity.

"So what's the deal with you and Vash?"

Meryl choked again, on air this time, and started coughing all over again. Carter just watched her, sitting in his own chair with more than a shadow of his previous presence. Whatever their jailer had done, it had improved him quite a bit. He looked like he could actually do something useful if he needed to.

The corner of his mouth turned up, and then he pushed the plate a little closer to her.

Meryl averted her eyes at once, sure she was blushing furiously. Yes, he was _definitely _feeling better, or at least he was more alert. "Nothing to tell."

"Don't misunderstand. I need to know if you can leave him here."

Her embarrassment evaporated; probably the same thing she'd done to Vash not half an hour ago. Meryl licked her lips, and suddenly the cheese was sticking in her throat. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

If he got them all off the hook with Knives, there was no way Knives would let him leave again.

Meryl toyed with the glass. "I just . . . I just told him that I expected him to do the impossible." Why had she said it? Why had she told him not to give up? What on Gunsmoke did she think he could confront Knives with? His fist? His idiotic behavior?

"Why?"

Because his dead best friend told me to? Meryl closed her eyes. "I don't know."

Aaron grunted, then raised his eyes to some point over her head. Meryl refused to turn, stealing a last piece of meat, and Elizabeth apparently crossed the room behind her to take the seat on her right. Long, graceful fingers helped herself to some breakfast, and she arched an eyebrow at Meryl.

"Where have _you_ been?"

She told herself that bristling was just what the engineer wanted. "Taking a moonlit stroll." She tried to sound as civil as possible.

Elizabeth gave her a strange look, then leaned in closer, studying her eyes intently. Meryl found herself leaning away self-consciously, her brows furrowed. So what if she had a smudge of dirt on her face -

That elegant hand caught her wrist, turning it over before Meryl thought to resist. Without a word, Elizabeth tugged her jacket sleeve up, and studied the pale skin there. There was a series of small white blisters, lined up like wandering yarn, that came up from her inner forearm and stopped before they reached her palm.

Meryl stared at them, eyes wide, and Elizabeth's expression became quite a bit more serious. "You interacted with the Plants again."

Meryl yanked her arm away, reacting instantly to the accusatory tone. "They interacted with _me_," she protested. "They chased me half an ile and-"

And then she didn't really know.

"Meryl, this is serious." The engineer leaned forward, but then she hesitated, and Meryl realized she'd withdrawn to the opposite edge of her chair. "This isn't like last time," and this time Elizabeth modulated her tone. "The radiation exposure was much higher, it was to your blood. That wouldn't happen unless . . . " She trailed off, apparently in thought. "What happened after they chased you?"

Meryl stood, surprised when it was so painful, her muscles still so stiff. "Nothing. I don't know. I passed out and had a dream."

"Of a dead guy," Carter elaborated. "And you were out for hours."

"What do you mean, it wouldn't happen 'unless'? What aren't you telling me?" She refused to be put off by a sudden look of understanding from the engineer, who sank back into her own seat.

"That's all you remember? Did they touch you?"

"Answer me," Meryl grated.

Elizabeth took her time in selecting a piece of cheese, suddenly no longer interested. "I'm not really sure how it _would_ happen," she said airily. "After all, anyone who had had that level of exposure would be dead, or at the very least missing a limb, like Doc." Meryl received another once-over. "Clearly the Plants are interested in avoiding unnecessary damage to you."

_She's jealous_, Meryl realized suddenly. It was the second time they had touched her, and though it had knocked her unconscious both times, she was still alive. They were fascinated in her for some reason. And now that she knew the blisters were there, she could feel they weren't cold so much as numb. They didn't hurt.

In fact, this body-gripping chill could simply be numbness. There was no telling how far the blisters had spread.

Meryl schooled her features as best she could. "Well, that's more than I can say for their brother."

Elizabeth allowed the change in topic. "On that note, you might want to grab a shower before Knives realizes that Librett gave us towels."

Giving her a graceful out to check on the damage? Still, she had a point – a towel would be a lovely thing indeed. It took a long time to air dry their clothes after they washed them in the shower, and there wasn't an unlimited amount of soap. Not having to slip back into a dirty pair of pants after finally getting clean would be a relief.

"Good idea," she heard herself mutter, and without another word she turned and left the room. She felt someone's eyes on her as she headed straight for the bathroom, but it was hard to say who. Probably Aaron, wondering if she was more injured than she seemed. If he was still thinking of leaving Vash behind, then he was still thinking about escape.

Which was a hell of a lot smarter than telling Vash that she _believed_ in him to get them out of this. Meryl swept into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with difficulty before leaning back against it. How could she be so selfish. . . .?

The back of her eyelids had no answers, and Meryl eventually opened her eyes and forced herself to face the facts, forced her fingers to unzip the New Kennedy uniform jacket.

The bathroom truly was utilitarian; the room was triangularly shaped, with the door opening inside. You had to almost straddle the toilet to get the door closed, and once it was, you had access to the sink. The point of the triangle was the shower, which was nothing more than a spigot for water and a drain, and anytime you used it, you got the rest of the room soaking wet. Which didn't matter much, because previously there had been no mirror or towels to worry about.

But now the small rack above the toilet made sense, because there was still a fluffy white towel, neatly folded and waiting.

More to the point, it seemed at least ten degrees warmer in there than the hallway outside, and there was condensation on the sink hardware.

Was that from . . . steam?

Her stinky clothes were off in a flash, confirming her worst fears about the amount of forest material she had brought back with her. Grass and dirt littered the floor as she shucked everything, almost afraid to look at herself.

The tiny blisters followed her veins, just like Elizabeth had said, through her elbow and halfway up her upper arm. But they stopped before they went any higher, like someone had grabbed her arm to keep her steady. Meryl looked lower, around her stomach, where Wolfwood had picked her up-

A belt of pale white blisters, that didn't seem to move up or down her torso.

So it hadn't been Wolfwood after all. It had been the Plants.

She delicately touched the blisters, but like the ones on her right arm, they didn't hurt at all. The skin wasn't red around them; it was actually more pale than the rest of her, and just as numb. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but there was nothing to be done about it other way. She was almost glad there was still no mirror in the room; she wondered what it was Elizabeth had seen in her eyes that had given it away.

How bad could it be, if the broom-head hadn't noticed?

But then, he probably hadn't really been looking at her. Hard to see through tears. She'd had a recent reminder of that herself.

Meryl dropped her hand, approaching the shower spigot. Her naked skin had confirmed that it did indeed feel warmer here than the kitchen, and she hesitantly grabbed the knob on the right, that had previously done nothing at all.

She turned it, and scaldingly hot water splashed down on her from above.

Meryl contained her yelp as best she could, flinching back into the sink and trying to get to the cold water faucet . In a few short seconds she was standing under a fountain of pure, perfectly heated bliss. She fished something spiny and hard out of her hair – thankfully not a bug – and then she got to scrubbing as fast as she could, before the hot water was all gone. Before she got warm and her skin could start to hurt.

Why _had_ she said those things?

"_Would it matter if she was?"_

_Meryl growled, no longer sure she was actually standing on her feet. She couldn't feel anything else touching her. _

"_Would you really want the tall girl to see you like this?"_

_Meryl couldn't help an stab a hurt, followed quickly by defensiveness. "That's none of your business!" _

_How awful did she look . . . ? Were the Plants really touching her?_

"_I know things look bad. Real bad. This is probably the worst it could get" He paused to take a drag. "At times like this, all you can do is have faith."_

_She almost opened her eyes. Almost. How the hell could he say that? "What do you mean?" Surely he wasn't telling her to pray their problems away?_

"_Faith is belief in something bigger than you are." Another drag on the cigarette, that she could smell, she would swear she could really smell it. "Everyone of faith believes in something. So believe already."_

_Meryl couldn't help herself. "That is the most useless piece of advice you could possibly have given me, isn't it."_

_A snort. "Like you'd take my advice anyway." It almost sounded sad._

_Meryl hesitated. "If I opened my eyes . . . would I see you?"_

_It was quiet for a long time. "I already told you. You're just going to have to try it and find out."_

There was a gust of cold air on her back.

Meryl whipped around and this time she didn't keep her yelp to herself, and Elizabeth gave her a look. Given how tiny the bathroom was, the other woman was practically on top of her, and probably getting wet from the spray. "It's just me-"

"Hey! Get out of here! What the hell is wrong with you!?" Meryl tried to cover up as best she could, and the engineer frowned but didn't touch her, looking at her critically from her forehead down. She stopped when she got to her stomach, and Meryl bit back her annoyance and promised herself it was alright to deck the other woman if she so much as _looked_ like she was going to touch her.

"That's not as bad as I would have thought," the engineer murmured to herself. "Turn around."

"I'm _fine_-"

"Turn. Around."

Meryl huffed but did as she was told – as well as she could in the confined space – and craned her neck around, just to make sure the other woman kept her hands to herself. Elizabeth gave her a cursory look, then gestured with her chin. "Pull up your hair, would you?"

"He didn't touch my neck-"

"Who?" Her voice was sharp.

The dead priest. "The – the Plants. I dreamt they were someone else. They didn't touch my neck."

"Just do it." It sounded like it was being forced between clenched teeth.

Meryl released her breasts and flicked up the back of her hair, being sure to send as much water as possible splashing out. If Elizabeth objected, she didn't say anything about it, and Meryl turned half around after a few seconds, trying to get a read on the engineer.

It didn't _feel_ like there were any blisters, and Elizabeth confirmed it with a shake of her head. "Just to be sure, we should let Doc check you out. Did you see him yesterday?"

Meryl released her hair and kept her back to the engineer. "No. Can you please leave now?"

"I'm surprised a woman like you would be so prudish," came her smooth reply. "You shouldn't be so embarrassed by your body."

Meryl grit her teeth. "You're letting in cold air."

The engineer simply laughed, but she did back out into the hall, and in the next second the door was firmly closed. "Take all the time you need," she called through the door, and Meryl kicked it in reply.

Towels were well and good, but a _lock_ would have been perfect.

-x-

It was late afternoon before the door opened, without a knock, and she was not at all surprised to see that it was Vash.

"Time for our daily chat?" she said lightly, by way of greeting, and he had the good grace to grimace.

"I'm sorry, there was something I needed to take care of." He entered the kitchen, giving Aaron a nod. He didn't look any worse for wear, dressed in the same basic clothes he'd worn yesterday. His eyes were tired and searching, and Elizabeth let him look as much as he wanted.

_What's going on in that head of yours, Vash?_

"Is th- is Meryl here?"

"Napping." She'd chosen to wash her clothes as well as herself, and had curled up in her towel in their 'bedroom' while she was waiting for the uniform to dry. The twin suns had baked the clothing long ago, and Aaron had brought them back in after he did his mid-morning exercises. He didn't seem happy, but she was betting that had more to do with the results of his physical tests and less to do with the fact that he was handling someone else's laundry.

Vash simply nodded. "She had a rough night."

"Said she was talking to ghosts."

His lips curved up in a strange little smile. "Wolfwood," he said, after a pause. "Nicholas D. Wolfwood, priest and gunman. He was . . . he was my best friend."

Elizabeth let her eyebrows twitch. That was an odd combination for a best friend. "Maybe he should have been talking to you."

His eyes looked hurt, though she couldn't figure out quite how he could have taken it as an attack. "I hear a lot of ghosts. Not sure he can cut through the crowd."

Of course. Vash was feeling very aggressively sorry for himself again today. "Not much of a friend then," she observed. "What can we do?"

The change in topic seemed to rouse him from his thoughts; when next he looked at her, he was really _looking_. He had the beginnings of a fine blond beard, and his hair was now so long that his bangs drooped lower than his eyebrows. But his eyes were clear and present.

"I was hoping I could get your opinion on something," he ventured. "Would you take a walk with me?"

That was a loaded question. "Of course," she replied immediately, and unwound her long legs, standing from the table. Carter had been leaning in the corner, simply listening, but when he stepped forward as well, Vash looked at him directly.

"Can I ask you to stay and keep an eye on Meryl?"

His eyes cut to her, and she gave him a subtle nod. Vash obviously wanted to talk about the project, or any way he could use it to convince Knives. There was no more danger here than anywhere else, and they weren't exactly friends.

Aaron could run his plan by Vash when they got back.

Carter inclined his head, leaning back against the wall with a wave of his hand. "You want her to stay inside?"

"If at all possible." Vash hesitated. "Our sisters seem to be very curious about her, but . . . they don't intact directly with many humans. She needs a chance to rest."

Aaron's look hardened, just enough that she thought she might have imagined it. Vash didn't seem to notice. "If you get an opening, take them and run. Your vehicles are in the depot on the north side, and most of your supplies are still in them. I'll make sure Knives won't follow."

Elizabeth felt herself straighten in surprise, but Vash didn't look her way, eyes still locked with Carter. He was unfazed by this sudden announcement.

"What about Doc?"

"He'll be staying with us," was all Vash said, then turned back to her, and offered the crook of his arm. "Shall we?"

Elizabeth schooled her features and accepted his gesture, and they exited the kitchen into the bright light of Gunsmoke. Vash didn't seem to be in a particular hurry, nor did he seem to have a particular destination in mind. He turned left, following the foot trail that she had initially followed in her first search of Knives, and she was content to let him think.

After a few minutes, the silence was getting to be a little much. "So, you want to tell me the plan?"

She watched his cheekbones rise in a smile, but he didn't look her way. "Not really a plan," he admitted. "You know they're not my strong point."

She snorted indelicately. That was an understatement. "Well, there are no children or bars in Eden, Spot, so your typical coping pursuits are out."

"There is a bar," he objected. "Knives installed one in the house for me."

"Let me guess. He doesn't drink."

Vash sighed. "There's really not much point. Our metabolisms are so fast getting drunk takes significant effort . . . " Then he trailed off. "Probably not for me anymore," he added quietly. "Guess I should have tried that, huh."

Elizabeth patted his arm. "I'm surprised it wasn't your first thought. How did your fight with Knives go?"

Vash shook his head, choosing a branch in the trail that led to nowhere in particular. "We didn't. Not yet."

So he was going to stage the fight and have them escape in the diversion. "Vash, where's Doc?"

He looked away, watching the rim of the valley. "They found something in the research Knives didn't like. He's in a coma, in a laboratory none of you have access to enter."

Elizabeth felt her stomach grow cooler. So it didn't have to do with the project. It had to do with _him_. "Are you dying?"

Vash's head cocked, like he hadn't thought of it. "I guess that depends on your definition of life."

She brought them both to a stop, using his arm to pull him around to face her. "Answer my question. What do you need, Vash?"

In response, he apologetically removed his arm from her grasp, and put his hand in his pocket. He came back up with a sleek silver syringe. "I have to ask you to do something for me, Elizabeth."

She glanced at the syringe, but it was opaque metal, clearly Lost Technology. She'd seen like equipment on the New Kennedy, which was doubtlessly where that came from. There was no telling the contents. "You've got a hand. Give yourself your own shot," she said bluntly. "What's in it?"

"Stimulant," he replied, his voice slightly tighter.

She stared at him, speechless. He slipped it back into his pocket, obviously not intending to use it right then, but it didn't matter _when_ - "Are you out of your mind?"

It wasn't caffeine he was talking about. It was Plant stimulant. It was the chemical that they fed to Plants in bulbs when they were not producing optimally. It was only to be used when a Plant was healthy enough to be forced, and even then in strict moderation. If that syringe was even half full, then it was twice the dose she'd recommend for a Plant-

For a Plant his size.

And he wasn't a Plant, not really, not anymore. He was as close to human as he could be. That much stimulant would kill a human, plain and simple.

He shrugged, trying for a lopsided grin. "Maybe?"

"Vash, don't be an idiot. Doc told us your Gate is suppressed. Even if it actually worked, do you have any idea what could happen if it was uncontrollably unsuppressed?"

He rubbed the back of his neck with one of his high-pitched giggles. "Yes, well now that you mention it, that's why I was thinking it would be a good idea if I tried it when I was in a bulb, you know? That way the risk to everyone else is minimized. But it's not as easy as you'd think to install yourself, ha ha! So I thought I'd ask my favorite Plant engineer-"

She slapped him. Hard. "I will not help you commit suicide," she growled at him.

The slap had turned his face, and he stared out at Eden, his jaw muscles prominent. "You've already tried to blow Knives up once this week. I thought you'd leap at a second chance."

Elizabeth reeled, taking a step back in shock. "How _dare_ you use that, Vash. How _dare_ you."

"Elizabeth, I'm not human." He turned to face her. "I am a Plant. You know that better than most. My body cannot continue to function like this. I am a walking bomb, and July will happen across a third of the planet when I go off. The longer we wait, the more certain that threat. It may already be too late, and I can't risk waiting any longer." He took a step closer to her, closing the distance. "I can handle it. Believe in me."

She stared at him in shock. Did he truly realize what he was saying? "Vash, if you succeed in manifesting, and you can't control your Gate, it'll be a Last Run. It will _kill you_."

He nodded. "It might."

"And what do you think will happen to the rest of us when you're gone?"

"The same thing that will happen to you if I stay like this," he replied, his voice steady. "Elizabeth, as I am now, there is nothing I can do to change Knives' mind. There is nothing I can do to protect you, or to stop him. As far as he's concerned, I'm already as good as dead." Vash's adam's apple bobbed. "This might be our only chance."

God _damn_ that man. "No. _This?_ This is a coward's way out." She turned on her heels, already marching back to the house, trembling with rage. He could not ask her to do this. He could _not._

A hand closed on her shoulder, much firmer than she expected, and she lashed out with a backhand. He'd anticipated, dodging by a fraction of an inch, and he caught her wrist as she came back for another swing.

"I am _not_ installing you in a bulb, Vash! You don't belong in one!" She knew she was shouting, she tried to free her wrist but he held it tight, and the fracture flared in protest. "You don't know what you _looked_ like! You couldn't even _float_, Vash! I am _not_ going to watch you die in one! I won't!"

She was never going to look at a monitor and see that pathetic mound of distressed feathers ever again. She was never going to stand there like she couldn't tell that he was turning himself inside out trying to find relief.

She was _not_ going to watch him die like that.

Vash's eyes were locked to hers, clearly seeking something, and she yanked at her trapped wrist. "Let me _go_."

He smiled then, brilliantly, the smile he showed when it hurt the most. ". . . I am." It never faltered. "I don't know what else to do, Elizabeth. Please."

She couldn't stop the tears, but after another tug she was free, and then he had embraced her. She pounded against his chest, but the strikes were short and compressed, and it had been so long since anyone had held her like they never wanted to let her go.

-x-

It was late afternoon when she opened her eyes.

Meryl blinked blearily, trying to get her bearings. The sunlight was streaming through her bedroom window, warming her legs, and she shifted the towel down as she stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn.

The . . towel . . .?

Meryl eeped, snatching the terrycloth back to her body and sitting bolt upright in her cot. Thank god the towel had stayed on, it didn't look like she'd shifted much in her sleep, otherwise Carter or Peeping Liz would have gotten more of a show than she'd _already_ put on-

She heard fabric hit the floor with a soft plop, and she curiously stuck her head over the side of the cot. Her uniform, which had been neatly folded presumably at her feet, was still mostly in a pile, looking a little lopsidedly forlorn. She was alone in the room, and there was no sound of voices at all.

Meryl took the opportunity to get dressed, any stray drowsiness long gone, and as she pulled on her boots, it occurred to her that she hadn't bothered to ask Vash if he'd mailed her letter. The pocket where she had been keeping the photograph felt strangely empty.

He would have liked to have seen that photograph.

A little unnerved at the silence, she padded as carefully as possible in her boots into the men's room – but it was empty. No sign of Doc or Aaron. She passed the darkened bathroom on her way to the kitchen, and she was a little relieved to find Aaron Carter there, staring out the window. The light made his hair look almost blond, and in profile, his face looked hard. There was no sign of anyone else.

Her unnerved feeling intensified. "Aaron?"

He pulled back from the windowsill, giving her the same once-over she'd given him over breakfast. "You up for a walk?"

She'd recognize the undercurrent of his tone anywhere. "What happened?"

"Hasn't yet," came the reply. Carter was already headed to the door, and she followed, having to take almost two strides to his every one. "Vash took Elizabeth. I think he's going to create a diversion."

They were leaving. They were leaving? "What about Doc-"

Carter kept walking, obviously with a destination in mind. "Not coming."

Her strides faltered, watching his back shrink as he never slowed. Not coming could mean a lot of things, but it most likely meant-

"Keep up," he barked over his shoulder, and she was jogging after him before she even thought about it.

"What happened?" she demanded again, and he turned his head enough for her to catch the corner of his left eye.

"Didn't ask," he replied. "Our vehicles are on the north side of the valley. If anything happens, I will handle Librett and Wright. You take Miss Elizabeth and you leave me here, you copy?"

Again, Meryl balked. No. No, that was not okay. They had arrived as a party, she wasn't just going to _leave_ him to be killed-

_Don't misunderstand. I need to know if you can leave him here._

She wouldn't just be leaving Aaron. Vash was the diversion.

Vash was the diversion meant to save them. To give them a head start.

"I'll keep her safe," Meryl said softly. There was no condition she could put on Aaron. Come back alive? I don't want to lose anyone else? Bring Vash with you?

She'd asked for enough. She'd asked for far, far too much. It was time to give back.

Carter grunted, but it didn't sound quite as militant as his tone had previously, and she half jogged after him as he swiftly followed a well-worn trail that wound haphazardly down into the valley. They passed by several small white sheds before Carter stopped, sizing one up.

It did not appear to have a door. Not that that meant anything.

Meryl, however, was a little more worried about the _size_ of the shed. "Uh, did you inquire as the nature of this, erm, _diversion_ they were creating?"

He gave her a droll look, then stepped up to the wall until he was nearly nosing it. Nothing happened, though he glared pretty fiercely, and he sighed, taking a step back and re-evaluating.

Soundlessly, a rectangular black hole opened.

Carter stepped inside without pause, though she couldn't tell if there was even a floor, or it was just an abyss.

"Stryfe, move!"

She held back another eep and followed, hopping over the threshold just as the door hissed shut. She felt it brush her backside as it closed, and for a split second she was alone in a black as night shed the size of a closet with Aaron Carter.

Then strips of soft blue lighting flickered to life along the walls, and she had the feeling of movement.

It was an elevator. And it was going down.

She accidentally brushed the front of Aaron's uniform as she caught her balance, and he steadied her with a firm hand. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yes sir," she added, just a little sarcastically, and he actually grinned.

"I'm glad you dragged in during my shift, Miss Insurance Agent."

"Likewise." It was silent for a moment, save the low hum of the elevator moving. "Do you know where we're going?"

"No clue. You ready?"

For the unexpected? "Why not," she murmured, and then they slid smoothly to a stop, and the hissing sound came from behind Aaron, rather than behind her.

He had already spun, and was out the door before she realized that the place they had arrived was as poorly lit as the place they had just occupied. There was the impression of a vast space, a dankness to the air that told her of air that didn't circulate often. As she stepped out, she found the floor was rock, not quite smooth, and to her immediate right was something enormous and familiar.

It was a bulb. A Plant bulb.

Meryl blinked in surprise, letting her eyes get adjusted to the dim, and then she was clear of the elevator totally, and stepping beneath the bulb.

There were dozens. It was an enormous underground cave, and it was full of Plant bulbs.

Some of them had occupants.

Meryl stopped where she was, just staring. The bulb beside her was empty, but the one beside it was ever so gently buzzing. A Plant sister was inside, floating just like every Plant she'd personally viewed and signed for on the Bernardelli forms for insuring the reactor project. In fact, that one in particular reminded her of –

Of Hondelic. She was the Plant from Hondelic. She had that one tiny leg coming out of her left side, like a baby had started to grow inside of her and kicked one of its feet right out of her body. She paid Meryl no attention, and seemed to be raptly staring across the cave.

Meryl followed her gaze, but the bulb there was dark. The monitor beside it was lit, but it was hard to tell, all she could really see was the slight halo of a figure-

A figure in a New Kennedy uniform.

Aaron had already come to the same conclusion – but then, he must have seen her come down here, Meryl realized abruptly. That was why he'd been standing at the window, and that was why he'd chosen that shed-elevator. She hurried across the cave floor, noting that there were at least two glowing bulbs to her left as well.

So Knives had been reinstalling the Plants after all.

But what kind of diversion were they going to use the Plants to create . . ?

She didn't seem to have heard them approach, because when Carter touched her shoulder, Elizabeth jumped. With her eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness, Meryl made out something at Elizabeth's feet, about the size of a cat, and then Aaron's deep voice rumbled through the air.

"You what?"

The engineer gave a breathy snort – or maybe a laugh? – and then she turned, and backlit against the monitor, Meryl could see that Elizabeth was crying.

"I told you to stay where you were," she snapped, and her voice was the arch, commanding tone Elizabeth Boulaise was famous for. "You don't follow orders very well."

"I quit, remember?" Carter glanced up at the dark bulb. "Whose idea was this?"

Elizabeth kept her back to the bulb, and Meryl suddenly realized that it wasn't a cat by Elizabeth's feet. It was a small pile of clothes, slightly lopsided and forlorn.

When it all clicked, she felt strangely calm. She stared into the dark bulb, willing her eyes to focus, and there was a flicker of motion in the depths.

"It's what he wanted," Elizabeth said quietly, in response to Aaron's question.

"Vash is in there," Meryl said, and she realized it wasn't a question. "You . . . you put Vash . . . in a bulb."

"Vash put himself in the bulb," the engineer shot back. "All I did was - make sure he couldn't get out." Her voice caught only once.

So not only was he in a bulb, he was in a bulb he couldn't escape. But that was _every_ bulb; that was kind of the point of them.

"Vash programmed it," she added, and Meryl glanced at the engineer uncertainly before she realized she was still talking to Aaron. "It can't be controlled through the network anymore."

Which mean it couldn't be shut off.

But Vash's gate was inert, wasn't it? Wasn't that the whole problem? So what was the point-

_You're more than a gunman, Vash. You're more than a stupid Plant. You're a force of nature._

Meryl closed her eyes.

Of course Vash would come to that conclusion. Of course he would. If he'd lost his Plant powers, and he needed them to deal with Knives, he'd just get them back. Simple.

"Will he survive?"

There was a soft sigh, and Meryl glanced again at Elizabeth, surprised her eyes had adjusted so quickly in such a short span of time. She could clearly see the engineer, and Aaron, who was looking up at the bulb and had positioned himself between it and Elizabeth, which was silly, it wasn't like Vash could suddenly hop out –

That sigh was familiar.

Meryl slowly followed Aaron's gaze, up to the top of the bulb, where a Plant was draped over the curve of the glass like melted candle wax. She seemed perplexed; she pressed against the bulb gently, as if she expected it to give.

Elizabeth had said she had made it so Vash couldn't get back out.

There was motion, to her right, and Meryl turned in time to see the Plant from Hondelic finish drifting through the front of her own bulb. There was no sound, no shattering of glass; the Plant passed through it like it was a soap bubble, nothing but thin rubber, and it wobbled in her light for a moment as it reformed, as good as new.

With a flap of her wings the Plant crossed the twelve or so yarz to Vash's bulb, and Meryl gave her a wide berth. The Plant settled at the very end of the bulb, staring at the dark interior curiously, and then she butted it with her chest like a dog seeking attention.

The glass didn't give. She couldn't move through it.

The Plant pondered this problem, and with the light they cast, it was easier to see that Vash was in the bulb. He was lying in the bottom, on his back, but she couldn't tell much besides his shifting every now and then. His hair was only a very dull yellow. She couldn't make out his expression at all.

"Don't look," Elizabeth commanded sharply. "Meryl, just trust me."

Meryl glanced between the engineer and the bulb. "Is he going to survive this?" she repeated, a little more forcefully, and Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her chest and said nothing else.

Behind her, the monitor began to flash orange. The Plant from Hondelic had given up attacking the front of the bulb and had now sunk beneath it, as if perhaps she could get in that way. She brought up her wings, glowing a little more brightly, and then the bulb was fully illuminated.

Vash was not reclining on the bottom of the bulb. He was wedged against the curve, his bare toes splayed against the glass and his back arched. His arm was rigidly extended, fingers clawing into the glass as if to crumple it, and his mouth was stretched wide.

Meryl was unable to look away, and his hand clawed frantically at the glass in front of her face. There was no sound. She watched his chest heave in a breath, every cord on his neck standing out as he screamed, and there wasn't even a whisper.

Behind him, through the glass, Meryl could see another Plant approach, and she too spread her wings, wrapping them around the bulb.

It was only soundless to the humans.

"Meryl, turn around. He wouldn't want you to watch-"

"Get him out of there." Her voice wasn't as rock-steady as Elizabeth's. "Get him out of there right now!"

"I _can't_." It was impatient. "No one can. Vash locked out the system."

"Get him out! There has to be a way!" Meryl didn't even hesitate, she pressed her hands against the glass, where his was trying so frantically to claw through. The bulb was cool; even as she watched Vash struggle, she couldn't feel so much as a vibration. She pounded a fist against it – and she couldn't even hear her own strike. There was nothing she had on her person that would shatter that glass.

The Plant beneath the bulb copied her, laying a hand on the glass, and then, as Meryl watched, she took her other dominant hand, and put it on the glass as well. Just like she'd seen Vash do, so many times, the Plant closed her eyes, and laid her forehead against the glass.

And in the bulb, Vash responded. He rolled painfully onto his side, his eyes screwed shut but looking straight at Meryl. His hand fisted, then fell from Meryl's, sought out the lowest part of the bulb, right atop the Plant's. His fingers slowly spread, matching the Plant sister's, and he shook, shrieking into the glass.

The two other Plant sisters adopted the same pose, hands against the glass, foreheads pressed between them.

Vash curled up around his hand in fetal position, directly above his sister Plant, digging his forehead into the glass, and for a moment, it seemed like he was holding his breath. That moment stretched on into another, and then another, and Meryl realized that he wasn't moving. At all. No breath. Not so much as a twitch.

The monitor behind Elizabeth began to flash red, the glare reflecting off the clear glass.

And then the bulb gave a soft buzz.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: Yes, I know, cliffhanger. Sorry. (that sounded really sincere, didn't it.) I nearly broke this into two chapters, but I think we can get away with one long one in this case. It should help explain Meryl's pseudo OOC speech in the previous chapter. She's a moving target for me, probably because I let this story go so long and got out of her head. She's mad and doesn't want to let me back in. Luckily, so many of you read the other parts so long ago I'm not sure you would have noticed if I hadn't just pointed it out. ; )

So . . . I wonder what Knives will make of Vash's decision?


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

Space.

Vash gazed around him in wonder at it. So many stars, large and small and every hue imaginable. They all seemed millions of light-years away, yet when he reached out to a large orange one, he found it was actually quite small, and the little girl sidled up to him shyly while he pretended to staunchly ignore that her grubby little fingers were reaching for the last of his honey-glazed donuts.

His memories.

Vash smiled at it and let it go, drifting back into the massive universe around him. Rem's rec room was the place he constructed, the place he chose his mind to be, but this . . . this is what it looked like to everyone else.

This is what it had looked like to A-20034.

He stared deep into that spaces, a little surprised that he couldn't spot her. Tami had called him here; he remembered her voice clearly, even through the pain-

Now that _was_ odd. He could sense it, there on the edge of deep space, but here, he felt cool and hydrated. It was so distant he could ignore it, just as he ignored so much worse.

"Thank you," he said, into the darkness.

An irritated huff was his reply.

Vash spun, surprised, and the re-oriented himself forty degrees. They were there, where the heels of his feet had been, blinding and glorious. Tami, Aliya, and Fron. Behind them, not so close, he could see Pelu, Nidi, Wendi, Lise, and Jain, forming a more distant ring.

Bodies orbiting a star.

Only he was not a star. He was a dead, lightless body in his own universe. He was a sun that had burned out. He looked down at himself ruefully, at the worn red duster, the handle of his Colt blinking dully up at him.

Vash reached up with his real forefinger, adjusting his glasses – and Aliya came forward with two arms and gently took them away. She held them in front of him, frowning, and they erupted into flames.

He made a grab for them with a surprised sound, but she'd melted them down to slag in an instant. She even flicked the pads of her fingers against each other, like a human ridding their skin of a particle of dust.

He left his rueful look in place. "I really like those glasses, you know," he complained. "They provide contrast."

Aliya glared at him through her eyebrows, then her gaze drifted to his duster.

Vash leaned back, just a little. She leaned forward. Tami gave him a mischievous little smile, and Vash looked to Fron hopefully, backpedaling.

"Uh, sisters . . . ?"

They were on him in an instant. Vash yelled and flailed, but they were unimpressed with his antics, and the duster disappeared in heatless blue and purple fire. He held up his arms, trying to ward them off, and Tami swallowed his mechanical arm whole. His boots had quite simply vanished, and Aliya yanked off the armor, hurling it through space. Vash watched it collect ice, a slim, fitted comet on a collision course with a pink-ringed planetoid.

Once they had unencumbered him of every stitch of clothing he'd worn, they drifted back, looking at him expectantly. Vash tried very hard not to blush.

"I wasn't wearing anything in the bulb, in case you missed it," he pointed out lightly. He didn't want to bring in anything that might have compromised the bulb's integrity. It was a longshot and he knew it, but on the off chance he really could unseal his Gate, it was imperative that the bulb's containment held.

The scars of collapsed, half-healed blisters flashed across his mind's eye, and Vash gritted his teeth. Doc had already gotten a taste of what his Gate was capable of, and was missing an arm because of it.

"I don't want to hurt them," he explained softly. "Or you. This is the only way."

Aliya frowned at him more deeply, and pointed at his chest.

Vash glanced down, afraid that he would be bleeding again, that the scars would be melting in a hot white wax river down his abdomen. But there was nothing there; his own pale flesh was intact, scars and all. No light pouring out. No damage. The stump of his arm seemed even lighter than the rest, a little glossy, like a glowstick that had nearly spent its chemical reaction. He looked back up at her, expecting guidance – and Aliya was _right there_. Her hands became those of a human, flesh and muscle, with long, strong fingers, and she took his face and rotated him 180 degrees.

Her hands smelled like Millie Thompson.

Vash recoiled, but she didn't try to hold him, and he was suddenly facing darkness. There were still stars, all around, but there was a curious circular void where there was no light. There was nothing. It was cooler than the space around it, and Vash hesitated, then glanced uncertainly at his sisters.

Fron sent him an impatient thought, like a parent urging their child to open a package on Christmas morning.

Vash swallowed. "Is my hand gonna get eaten or something . . . ?" What did a black hole in his mind signify? Yet he reached out obediently – and stubbed his fingers on something solid, much closer than he'd thought. Vash withdrew his smarting fingers, popping them in his mouth, and then he drifted in a circle around the object.

And it _was_ an object. It was quite solid, reflecting no light. It was spherical but it didn't seem to be perfectly so; rather it had so many facets that it was nearly totally round. It was neither hot nor cool, and when Vash prodded it, it remained fixed on its axis. He could rotate it in any direction, but he could not move it within the universe that was his mind.

It was a combination lock.

It was the block on his Gate.

Relief radiated from his sisters at his realization, but Vash felt only dread. This was the block. This was what he had created to stop himself from manifesting. But it hadn't worked. They had forced him to produce power anyway. They had forced him into a Plant form and this had still been there when they'd done that.

Hadn't it?

Vash evaluated the object. He had certainly created it; it could not be rooted so firmly into the fabric of his universe if anyone else had put it there. His immediate thought was that A-22034 would know, she must have been aware of when he created it, but he did not see her among the brightly glowing sisters that were trying very hard to communicate with him.

"Why can't you just tell me?" he asked plaintively. "If you know what this is, just tell me what to do."

Aliya had crossed multiple pairs of arms, apparently in consternation, and Nidi, on the outer ring, glowed brightly at him. Once she had his attention, she toned it down a little, then flared up brightly once more.

In turn, each of his sisters displayed their light like fireflies. The light was unique to each of them, their true 'names,' and it contained every imaginable color, it would have burned his human eyes but to his mind it was simply beautiful.

Aliya tapped his shoulder, and gestured at the black sphere.

Vash followed her gesture, studying the surface once more. His sisters glowed, fighting the darkness, but it stubbornly refused to reflect any part of the spectrum. And he got the feeling it _was_ stubbornness; the thing had a familiar, emotional something about it. Like it was alive, or at least aware.

It was probably a memory, he realized abruptly. If everything else in this universe was a memory or a thought, then this probably was too.

But what memory would be so hard, so unyielding, so utterly devoid of light?

Vash stared into the blackness, willing one of the surfaces to reflect _something_. Was it watching Rem's ship hit the atmosphere?

A large, red star throbbed at him, from thirty degrees, and he could feel the pane of glass under his gloved fingers as he clung to the window and watched it burn.

Vash withdrew from it. Was it the first time he tasted loneliness? Knives' pained cries burned the tiny hairs in his ears as he fled into the sand, two unfamiliar guns clutched in his hands.

On the other side of the sphere, Pelu looked up at him, smiling gently, and she lit up like the sun.

The black sphere did not respond.

What would he have been thinking about, as a Plant, that he would have folded around his Gate like this?

On a whim, he looked over at Jain, who seemed a little more coherent than her other sisters. "What does your mind look like, sister?"

She seemed to consider that a moment, and he realized she was probably surprised he had to ask, he couldn't just go _look_, but then she crossed the distance between them, and gently butted his forehead with hers. Vash had the impression of a vast fog, light and silky on his skin, diffuse light spread all across an immense space-

Like A-20034. Like it had been on the ship.

Those wisps of light and fog were her memories. They weren't solid objects like his own, with definite boundaries and contents. Her memories drifted in and out of each other seemingly at random, and then she broke contact, dazzling him.

Vash closed his eyes, flinching back reflexively at the blinding light. "Aye-eye-eye. Do you have to do that so close? I'm gonna go blind-"

Relief.

Vash drifted slightly back, blinking repeatedly to clear his vision, and Jain stared at him expectantly.

His mind would have been like her mind. The memories would have been drifting together. So this . . . this probably wasn't a memory, or rather, it wasn't _one_ memory. It was several memories, or maybe emotions, that had swirled around his Gate and solidified once he had regained his humanoid form. Or maybe . . . his humanoid state of mind . . .?

Elation.

So if he was not in his humanoid form, then perhaps it would become wisps of fog, that he could simply brush away?

But it wasn't that simple. He _couldn't_ regain his Plant form _until_ it was cleared.

Disappointment.

Vash scrubbed his hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. The humanoid state of mind is the problem, but I can't do anything about that until –

As one, his sisters glowed, illuminating every corner of his mind.

Until he glowed. Until he shifted into a Plant. "Yeah, I get that, but . . . you don't understand, I _can't_-"

Exasperation.

Vash closed his eyes, forcing himself to be calm, and then he chuckled sheepishly. "Guess it must really be frustrating trying to teach your big brother something so basic, huh. I appreciate your help, really I do."

But what I wouldn't give for one of you to just give me a plain answer.

He felt something from them then that tasted just a little bit like despair. This was clearly something that was so simple for them that anyone could figure it out, so maybe he was just overthinking things, but what was there to overthink? They wanted him to become a Plant, so his Gate would be unsuppressed. How could he explain that he had to get his Gate back before-

Before he could become a Plant.

But that wasn't true at all. He couldn't _become_ a Plant. He _was_ a Plant. Even without the Gate, he didn't stop being a Plant.

_You've spent so much time hiding that body of yours that you've forgotten what you even are!_

_So you don't have your gun. So you don't have your armor. Your Plant powers were always off the table, remember? So what's so different about this situation, huh?_

Vash opened his eyes, lifting up and studying his hand. His human hand, attached to his human wrist and his human arm. It was his human body they had stripped him down to, taken off all the things that covered him up.

But he wasn't a human.

He'd always hated his Gate. He'd always hated that power, tried to suppress it, hide it, ignore it. He'd never embraced it, not even in his fight with Knives. Not even in Hondelic, not really. He didn't want to be a Plant. He didn't want to be like Knives. He didn't want to be different than Rem or the crew.

And in that bulb, his memories becoming blurred, wisping together – he'd be afraid that he was losing himself, the Vash he wanted to be. The Vash he had constructed. He'd be afraid of what he would turn into, he'd be afraid of what it would feel like to have his energy drained.

He'd been afraid of himself.

This universe, this was how everyone else saw his mind. It was time to see himself their way too.

Vash stared at his hand, stretching it out in front of him, palm towards the sphere. His skin looked dark, opaque, and he willed the top layer to flake off. It drifted out into the space around him, freezing instantly into tiny little crystals of ice, and they picked up the glow of his sisters, sparkling like the tiniest glass dreamcatchers.

Beneath that layer of skin, it seemed lighter. He watched another layer flake off, then another. It didn't . . . didn't hurt. He expected it to burn, but it actually felt cooler. Cleaner. The skin of his wrist and forearm shattered itself and drifted off, and Vash closed his eyes and threw his arm and legs wide, stretching, straining, shucking off the flesh that suddenly seemed more like a bodysuit than skin.

He screwed up his face, flaking it off his cheeks, behind his ears, the back of his neck. When he was sure everything had drifted clear, he opened his eyes, and his bangs floated into view, burning as brightly as if both the suns of Gunsmoke were shining through them.

He had extra arms – and he found them by accidentally bashing one into the sphere. He grabbed it – or at least, he meant to. His dominant arm was now an Angel Arm, but it was not a weapon; the tip of his wing wrapped around the smarting limb. Curiously, he glanced at his left, at the tiny little wing that had sprouted from his shoulder. It was whole, but ridiculously petite, and somehow it seemed cute. He smiled at it.

Joy.

Vash looked out at his sisters, shyly, and they beamed back exuberance, recognition –

Welcome.

Vash looked down at himself in wonder. His body was completely different, and it showed damage, it showed the scars, but not in the same way. They were only skin deep. His muscles, his flesh, it was strong and supple. He stretched his wing out as far as he could, every feather felt like an individual finger – and it felt good, like stretching after waking from a long night's sleep.

He turned to the sphere, the multi-faceted symbol of his self-hatred and fear, and he gave it a long look. Then he took a deep breath, and he let his emotions well up into a blinding ball of light, gathered in the palm of one of his new limbs.

The limb, too, was glowing more brightly – all of him was – and it felt right. Layers of inky blackness began to chip off the sphere like his skin, like the surface of the bricks on the walls of the homes in July and Augusta, like the clothing of the sun-baked dead, like the paint from a dried-up sign. All of the pain he had inflicted on himself, all of the guilt, all of the loathing, it was there in that black sphere.

But underneath all that lightless hopelessness, there was the truth of what he was. Vash held the white-hot ball of light in his hand, then slowly pressed it into the surface of that sphere, burning everything it touched until nothing remained but a dazzling fulgor.

-x-

It was fortuitous that Vash didn't care overmuch for wine.

Oh, his brother would drink anything if he was driven to it, but he tended to aim for a higher alcohol content. He rarely drank for the flavor, really more for the effect. As short-lived as it was. But a fine glass of pinot, or a smooth merlot . . . they were lost on a palate like Vash's.

Which meant his cache of cabernet was always where he'd left it.

Knives reclined in the armchair, letting his head fall back and staring absently at the joint of the wall and ceiling. The wine was sharp on the back of his tongue but more mellow towards the front, and he held it there a long moment, enjoying the difference before swallowing.

Good wine was complicated.

He enjoyed complicated. So few things really were. Computer systems, nuclear reactors, spaceships . . . these were things that required study to fully understand.

Humans were not complex. They were simple and flawed, and could be understood in an afternoon. The old man was trying to build an emotional bond to increase his chance of survival. The meddlesome woman was the same. It wasn't complicated.

It was simple. It was so very goddamn simple.

_"Why? Why did you do that?"_

_Her eyes narrowed a little, apparently in contemplation. "Because I had to," she said simply._

_He crouched down in front of her, studying her. She was literally holding herself together; he watched the breeze take a bit of the white fabric of her shirt and the moment it left the rest it tuned into half a teacup and shattered on the shingles._

_"Why?" Why did you let me in?_

_Her eyes closed, and he saw the lines of weariness etched permanently into her pale skin. "If . . . if I show you . . . then can I say goodbye?"_

_He studied her, not understanding, and she loosened the death grip she had on her wrist, and haltingly held out her hand._

_He stared at her, but her meaning was clear, and he grasped her reaching fingers. _

_Suddenly he was out of breath. The room around him was slightly fuzzy, images were trailing in the corner of his eye all wrong, and he was terribly anxious. In front of him, someone said something. Their voice was shaking._

_"Mr. Knives?" he tried tentatively. He realized he should be more concerned about the fact that they were cornered in this room, but the Plant's body language was screaming at him that something was wrong. If he didn't know better he would have thought the man in front of him had been terribly injured._

_The Plant didn't answer him. He staggered to a stop, about five feet from the wall._

_Knives' eyes burned, aching from his crying, and he blinked them in irritation, hesitantly approaching the Plant._

_". . . no . . ." It was a whisper, but it reverberated around deafeningly, like their footsteps in the huge chamber._

_Knives swallowed around a stinging in his throat, and took a step to the left, to look around him._

_The bench wasn't empty. Much like the ones outside, it contained a series of clear plates. These plates, however, rather than holding tiny volumes of liquid in tiny little cylinders, held large pieces of metal. Metal rods, metal pins, even a large mesh, like –_

_Shaking, he took another step to the left._

_Directly in front of the Plant, far too large to have put on a plate, an arm was stretched out. Its fingers were laid out straight and neat, the hand arranged palm down. It was complete, elbow bent at about a forty-five degree angle to ensure the long, thin limb would fit easily on the bench. It ended in a rough series of needles, wires, and worse, and there were dark drops, splotches and smears on the bench top, showing it had not been moved since it had been removed. It was no longer covered in the leather armor that usually housed it, but he knew immediately who that arm belonged to._

_There was only one person he knew that had a mechanical arm._

_The Plant was staring at it unblinkingly, but his eyes looked dilated and unfocused. The light, coming from an angle beneath his jaw, only served to accentuate the expression of horror on his face._

_Knives stared at him, blinking a growing film out of his eyes. He'd seen that look before. It was worse than horror, worse than antipathy. For once, the Plant looked exactly like Vash._

_"Mr. Knives?" His voice sounded tiny to him, tiny and quiet and trapped –_

_He blinked again, fighting for focus, and his brain sluggishly clicked._

_"Mr. Knives!" Heedless of the danger, he reached out and grabbed his arm. And then he realized._

_It was just like a normal arm._

_No feathers._

_It wasn't quite where it looked like it ought to be, either, and the Plant reeled, stumbling to the side. He didn't tear his eyes away from the bionic arm._

_"The drug! The drug you gave me!" he tried again, this time stumbling so that he was between the Plant and Mr. Vash's arm. He didn't want to think what it meant just now. In a very few moments, he was going to fall down, down in that darkness again, and that meant that the Plant would too. And whatever had happened to Mr. Vash was going to happen to him._

_The room drifted away, back to the roof, and Knives fought to keep his composure. She had not just shared a memory with him; she had just dragged him completely into a construct. She had inserted him into her own memory so seamlessly he had not even been aware of himself past gender._

_That wasn't possible._

_The human stared at him through squinting eyes, and he felt a section of the house give way beneath them. A major structural wall. Her mind was fading quickly. She still had hold of his hand, and when he began to withdraw it, she clamped down on him with startling strength._

"_You promised, Mr. Knives!" she cried. "You promised I could say goodbye!" _

The human trash had just confused him for Vash. It was nothing more complicated than that.

So why couldn't he get it out of his head?

The edited soundclips from the infirmary, of her defending him – that was easily explained away as his influence. But before . . . and he had given her reason only to fear him. She should have been elated that his rampage had been so suddenly cut short. She had been nothing but a weeping mess as he had cut through the idiot humans that had dared to oppose him. Likely she had thought about using the guns he had given her against him.

Her fear would have checked that. And that was all her response had been. Fear of the consequences if she had not done everything in her power to help him.

Only there hadn't been fear. There had been a lack of it.

Dampness registered, and Knives realized he was holding only the stem of a glass. The goblet had shattered in his hand, and the wine had spattered onto the armchair and all over him.

For a moment he was incensed, but a deep breath brought calm. It was just wine.

It wasn't complicated. He was angry, and the glass had shattered. It had been a long time since he had felt emotion enough to override his self-control. But it had been happening frequently in the past week, and it had started after _her_.

The meddling she had done within his mind.

The meddling that he had inadvertently given her the power to do.

Was that really possible? he pondered, setting the stem, with its intact saucer bottom, back on the end table beside him. Was it really possible that he himself had cloaked her mind with the shadow of Rem? That perhaps he had had to, in order to ensure the bond was strong enough to allow him to use her to escape? Was it possible that subconsciously he had identified her as something to be permitted?

And why would he have permitted Rem?

That woman would have _left_ them. Would have _abandoned_ them to the scientists. Just like Tessla. Would have taken her own samples. Would have feared them Would have betrayed them.

Like that goddamn human woman lying dead outside.

She _would_ have. If not for his influence on her mind, she _would_ have betrayed him as well.

But she hadn't.

But she _would_ have!

But she had multiple opportunities.

She confused him for his idiot brother. That was all there was to it!

So why then did the old man vex him so? He'd had all the same opportunities, all the same chances. He knew, full well, the difference between them. He knew that Vash was an idiot and that he himself was not to be trifled with. He comprehended the consequences the humans had brought down upon themselves.

Even knowing everything, and without telepathic influence, the old man had helped him. Had helped Vash, certainly, but had also treated his injuries with no real attempt to use it as leverage.

Again, fear of the consequences of not helping him.

But the old man, he wasn't afraid. He couldn't have been afraid and been so forward with his criticism. He had spoken his mind –

But did he really know that? He had not looked. He had had every opportunity to look, to read the old human's thoughts, to learn the truth, and he had not.

Knives closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose and letting himself experience the headache that was constantly there, just behind his eyes. The injury was still healing. It was simply easier to spare himself the pain than it was to use his telepathy to confirm what he already knew the old man was truly up to.

But what if that was an excuse?

The headache _was_ niggling. In fact, it was wriggling around the back of his head like an insect. Knives paused. It wasn't just the ache of the injury. It was his link to Vash. He had temporarily blocked it, to allow his brother to come to the inevitable conclusion without the excuse of claiming influence, but behind the block, the link was –

Knives left his eyes closed, and lessened his stranglehold on the link. Pain poured into his skull, an echo only, not his own but his brother's. It wasn't emotional pain, it was physical. Vash was in _agony_.

He was on his feet before he'd even opened his eyes, letting the link flow wide open, staunching the pain information but utilizing the rest. It was essentially worthless, his brother was beyond thought, his eyes were closed, and wherever he was, it was dark.

_Vash! Vash, what's wrong?_

Knives had linked his office computer to the lab, and his fingers flew over the keys as he accessed his console. The sensors were still online, and they showed that Vash was in the Sanctuary. His vitals were way off; elevated respiration and heartbeat, highly elevated blood pressure, beginning signs of organ failure.

Had he initiated another treatment . . . ? The sensors showed there was no influx of Plant energy, so if he had, something had gone terribly wrong.

The house was built on one end of the underground cavern, and there was a lift that went directly there. It was too slow, Knives paced the platform impatiently until it was low enough that he could make the jump without damage. He reached out to his sisters, there were several of them gathered around Vash, and he could feel their concern and their frustration. They were unable to make contact with him.

So what the hell was going on?

He rounded the corner at a sprint, finding the three remaining humans also near his sisters. They had surrounded a bulb, and the monitor beside it showed him what the console in his office had. A flashing warning. Whoever was in that bulb, they were in imminent danger.

The bodyguard heard him coming and wisely pulled his comrades out of the way. There was no sign of Librett, and Knives acknowledged Wendi as she sank through the ceiling. They were all going to Vash, his pain was excruciating –

No.

That wasn't possible.

The humans were now on the other side of the bulb, and his sisters had it well lit. Vash was there, huddled at the base, curled over Tami, who was pressed to the bulb but somehow didn't seem capable of penetrating it. She had apparently made contact, and she had him in thrall. He was stationary, his heart was probably no longer beating, but Knives wasn't sure how long Tami could hold Vash in stasis. If she lost focus for even a moment, and she certainly would –

He slid the last few feet to the console, tapping a few quick commands before he realized the keyboard was not responsive. The workstation was locked; all he could get out of it was the lack of life signs in the bulb, the status of the inner and outer bulb containment fields, and a graph that showed normal human lifesigns that had suddenly spiked, then crashed.

The engineer.

Knives turned to his right, letting his eyes blaze through the glass, and on the other side, the human sensed him and quailed.

"He – Vash – he locked out the console," she stammered.

That was easy enough to test. She didn't have the intelligence to keep him out long. Knives started immediately on the operating system, attempting to regain root access. Tami kicked over something by his feet, fabric, of no importance, but there was a metallic ring as something rolled across the rock, and Knives recognized the shape of the sleek silver pen immediately.

The spike in Vash's life signs.

Knives heard his jaw crack, but he kept his voice tightly controlled. "How much?"

She had given Vash stimulant, and she had locked him in a bulb. He would make her pay a hundred thousand times for this mistake.

"I don't know. He self-administered." She sounded pained. "Given his readings, I'd guess twenty ccs or more."

. . . self-administered? That amount was borderline suicide, a healthy Plant would have difficulty regulating with that quantity of chemical to contend with.

Not that Vash would have known that –

Had his brother truly done this to himself?

Knives redoubled his efforts on the console, but the algorithm was complex. He would not be able to solve it before Tami lost focus. But none of his sisters could past through the containment fields, it was one of the reasons he'd modified all these bulbs to have them off by default. Even if he held Vash in stasis, he couldn't work on the console at the same time.

And if the humans were here . . . this was no surprise to them. Vash had either told them of his intention, or they had had a hand in it.

The engineer was not intelligent enough to unlock the console. And holding Vash in stasis would do nothing to get the stimulant out of his blood. The outer bulb containment field fluctuated as Aliya, who was lying atop the bulb, attempted to disrupt it, and Tami opened her eyes as the bulb buzzed angrily. Knives abandoned the console and turned immediately to the glass, laying his hands against it.

_Vash! Answer me!_

He was not the only one trying to make contact; Vash's mind was there but muted by the rest of their sisters, who had surrounded his mind to such an extreme that Knives wasn't sure he'd have been able to make contact at all without their telepathic bond. He got the impression of light, blinding light, and relief from their sisters. Shouldering between them, he saw Fron, Aliya, and Tami, all gathered around a brilliantly glowing Plant –

One magnificent wing, strong and muscular, totally unlike those of their sisters. His hair was shorter than theirs, it was a true reflection of his physical body, but it was the only one. He held something before him that was burning like a sun, and he was facing a disk of complete darkness, disintegrating in the sheer power of his light.

It was the block. The block on his Gate, that could not be destroyed, crumbled in the face of Vash's true form. It imploded with a roar so loud it was silent, sending rings of energy sweeping out across the vast universe of Vash's mind. No star or planet was untouched, all of them moved by the wave of energy, and Knives warded it off with an arm, surprised at the buffeting he received. Even their sisters had to brace themselves, though more gracefully than he.

He had been correct; that lightless block had held the sun around which all those memories revolved, and energy in every discernable color poured forth like plasma ejected from a red giant. Vash himself was thrown back from it, and he instinctively folded his wing, trying to catch as little of the energy as possible as he fought to brace himself and stop losing ground. Aliya, Fron, and Tami had all retreated back to the outer ring their other sisters had formed, and they greeted Knives with something like relief.

Clearly, they thought he was going to do something about this.

That release of energy was literal. Vash's Gate was open, and it was doing exactly what the data – and the stimulant- had prescribed.

It was free-flowing. If Vash didn't get a handle on it, it would exhaust itself, and he would burn out.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: I had actually intended to cover more in this chapter, but it took Vash a while to figure out what he needed to do, and Knives _really_ wanted a glass of wine and frankly I've put them both through enough that I didn't see any point in rushing them. So I guess that's another cliffie. Sorry. (No, really, I am!) Next chapter we'll get to see what's happening outside of telepathy-land, and Knives will have his answer, once and for all.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

"Back-"

That was all the warning there was. No gentle glow. No soft ping. Not even a change in air pressure. The bulb was angrily buzzing its protest against the Plants on the exterior, still trying to penetrate the glass, and it shifted neither in pitch nor frequency.

But somehow, Elizabeth knew.

Meryl was yanked bodily off her feet as brilliant light exploded in front of her. The afterimage was blinding, and she groped clumsily at the iron fist that was buried tight in the collar of her jacket, holding her up. Carter. Carter had ripped her away.

Just in time.

After some frantic blinking, she started making things out. There were shadowy blobs on the bulb – the Plants, she realized with a start. The bulb was burning like the suns of Gunsmoke in comparison with them. They didn't seem disturbed by the sudden change in lumens, and she would bet Knives was right where he'd been, on the other side of the glass. Somewhere, a claxon was screaming.

Vash was clearly still alive.

He was more than alive. The Plants were not generating that power. Vash was. It was the brightest bulb she'd ever seen.

Much brighter than on the ship.

Meryl squashed that thought before it could continue. The brighter the bulb, the higher the power draw. She shook herself free of Aaron's grip and turned to Elizabeth, who was pushed against Carter's outstretched arm, studying the bulb intently. Her expression was difficult to read in the stark white light. She looked older, almost ashen.

"What do we do?" Meryl shouted, not sure she could be heard above the alarms.

The engineer didn't immediately respond. She extended her right hand, palm towards the bulb, as if checking it for heat.

"We wait," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "It's up to him now."

Meryl wasn't sure which one she was referring to.

Her eyes never adjusted to the light. It scorched her corneas to look at the bulb directly, so Meryl watched it out of the corner of one eye. Watched the blobs shifting on the glass, still seeking a way in. Watched light squirming and swirling inside the bulb itself, like milk curls in coffee.

On a whim, Meryl ducked down, glancing under the bulb. The Plant was still there, glued to the bulb base, but she was moving backwards beneath it, towards its connection with the wall. As she shifted, the red alarm from the bulb console was visible on the rock floor, and then she made out two wide calves, attached to two strong thighs.

Knives was still there, head against the bulb.

Probably completely oblivious.

Meryl glanced at Carter, and found that he was watching her. His eyes were questioning.

But they had no weapons. It would be easy to walk around the bulb and shoot him, but they didn't have a gun. Getting into a fistfight with Knives was bound to end in failure, no matter how much better Aaron was feeling. They had no tools; not even a loose rock on the cave floor.

And what if Knives was helping? How many times had she seen Vash in that position, trying to calm a Plant out of control?

Meryl hesitated, then shook her head. Carter frowned at her, then crouched himself, still keeping his right arm outstretched to prevent Elizabeth from moving any closer to the bulb.

The engineer followed suit, apparently not sure what it was they were looking at, and her gaze seemed to focus more on the Plant, still scurrying in slow motion backwards up the wide curve of the bulb. Gravity didn't seem to be a problem for her; her long hair was not trailing beneath her but glued to the bulb as well. For the first time, it made Meryl think of a nest of worms, seeking a way in.

Knives had not moved.

Meryl straightened hesitantly, then started to edge around the end of the bulb. It was incredibly hard to make out the Plant above it, the bulb was too bright, but Knives was a black outline against the light. His nose upturned the same way. His mouth was not drawn into a grimace but relaxed, and his hands were empty, flat against the glass.

Was he helping? Was he even capable of helping Vash?

The bulb pulsed, she could feel the low, deep reverberations in her lungs as she held her breath. A new alarm joined the others, a deeper, more insistent claxon, and there was a loud, heavy slap of impact. Meryl jumped, and then she saw the golden worms creeping out from under the still-brighter bulb. The Plant did not move towards Knives, nor towards Aaron or Elizabeth, but towards the bulb end, and Meryl hastily gave ground as the Plant fully emerged.

She was not the same starkly black outline as Knives, but she was certainly dark, and it was impossible to see anything besides her silhouette. With one beat of her wings, she launched herself towards the ceiling, and Meryl watched her go, wiping sweat out of her eye.

Sweat. She was sweating. It was hot.

Meryl looked back at the bulb with a start. It was like staring up at the sky. It was hot.

The bulb was giving off heat. A _lot_ of it.

She didn't recall the exact Bernandelli documentation that cited it, but heat generation was a Class C indicator of imminent property damage due to a critical plant malfunction. Class C called for immediate evacuation of the area for a half an ile radius, and injury and property damage that occurred from a bulb giving off heat was covered by Bernardelli except in the case of gross negligence.

Had the Plant been burned?

She shielded her eyes with her arm, trying to make out anything besides the bulb, but it didn't help. The light turned whiter, cooler, but no less blinding, and she gradually noticed that the alarms were no longer screaming. It wasn't perfectly silent; a wind was blowing somewhere, not a lonely desert wind but rather more like the breezes that had cut through Eden while she had waited with Millie for the end.

There was an exhale just behind her, somehow sad.

Meryl very carefully didn't turn. ". . . is he going to die?"

There was a short pause. "God I hope not."

That pious voice did _not_ belong to the priest.

She whirled, arm still raised, still in defense, but there wasn't a need. He was about two feet behind her. His eyes were pupil-less, glowing softly, his arms at his sides, and two sets of toes were just dragging whatever it was they were standing on. He was-

He was a Plant. Far more completely than she'd ever seen him before. There had been a wing, feathers, the Angel Arm, but before he had still looked –

Human.

"I hope one day the sound of the wind in trees doesn't hurt," he continued softly, and yet his voice was _his_, as serious and vulnerable as she'd ever heard him. "Normally I wouldn't intrude, but I wanted to say . . .thank you."

Meryl stared up at him, and her emotions wrestled anxiously with one another. "Can we help?"

He laughed, looking surprised at himself. "You already did."

He called _this_ help? "Vash . . . when I told you to remember who you are -"

"This _is_ who I am," he confirmed softly. "This is who I always was."

Somehow her cheeks were wet. "No, it's not!" He wasn't some glowing god to be placed behind glass. How could he have brought so much happiness to the kids of April? How could he have ridden that thomas backwards stealing donuts intended for the real Vash the Stampede? How could he have –

How could he have been the one who had entrenched himself in her heart like this?

"You're so much more than this!" she cried, wiping her face angrily with her arm. "Dammit Vash, you don't have to die for us!"

A hand, warm against her wrist. "I'm not," he told her, and she allowed her arm to be pulled away, staring at him. "At least, I'm trying not to." There was a little too much uncertainty in it, and he frowned.

His face just didn't look the same.

Meryl hesitated, then she reached up her free hand, and gently touched his jaw. He didn't move, and despite the strength there his skin was velvet soft. It didn't hurt to touch him, any more than it had hurt when they had touched her.

"Your eyes are blue," she corrected, then swallowed. "And you have a mole. Right here." She tapped the place it should have been. "And you eat donuts, and hang out in bars, and pull stupid stunts and laugh and talk and breathe and-"

He took her other hand into his own, and only then did she realize that his right arm was still missing, it was a set of arms below he was using. They touched her gently, firm and sure.

He had total control over them. Over . . . this.

Maybe because he'd always been meant to have them.

"I'm this too." He ducked his head a little. "I'm both, and neither, and I know that doesn't make sense. I'm doing the best I can. I just wanted to tell you . . . no, I wanted to show you . . ." Then he stopped, and swallowed, and she realized he was crying too. "This may be a little scary," he admitted.

Then he released her hands, only to embrace her.

When her face touched his chest, the lights blinked out. She tensed against him, and he stiffened in response, but he was still there, warm and real, even if he was no longer alight. She leaned away, searching the darkness, and the first thing she made out was a tiny pinprick of light.

It was a star.

Then she saw another. Then another. Slowly the sky filled with them, as clear as a night in the desert. There was no moon – there was no desert, she realized with a start. She was standing on nothing. She wasn't even standing. She was weightless, grounded to nothing but his arms around her.

His chest shook with a quiet chuckle. "Even if I let you go, you wouldn't fall," he assured her, and she realized she was clinging to him like he was a tree, her legs wrapped around his waist.

"Where . . . is this?" she managed, trying and failing to relax. It seemed like they were gently rotating in the sky itself.

"Believe it or not, we're in my mind."

She said the first thing that occurred to her. ". . . a big empty space?"

He pulled a face, and she somehow managed to force herself to release him. He kept hold of one of her hands, and she drifted around him effortlessly.

"All of these stars are my thoughts and memories," he explained. "There's something you should see."

With a beat of his great wing, he pulled away, tugging her along like a traincar. They flew through constellations and giant, brilliant clouds of multi-colored gases. They seemed to be moving at a ridiculous pace, it was only when they brushed past a large blue and white swirled planet that she realized how small everything was.

She could have picked up that planet in her hands.

Gradually Vash brought them to a stop, before a clustered group of stars. There was a small purple-grey planet, its atmosphere stormy. It had several moons, one of which was in pieces, and the rocks had circled the planet in a rough ring, and glistened in the light. Farther from the planet were several icy comets, trapped in an oblong orbit. One of them was moving faster than the other, and they silently watched the first comet lap the second.

Further out, but still close enough to be part of the system, a large, squat-looking grey planet hunkered down. It had no satellites, and it appeared barren and unfriendly. There was something moving on the surface, though, or almost under it, like it was the grey film on a pond and beneath it, a few salmon still swam. Beyond it was a moderately sized planetoid in a deep, vibrant red, and its gases swirled like fire in slow motion.

Meryl studied each one closely, the careful dance as those planets flew past one another, never quite colliding. "What is this?"

Vash took a deep breath. "This is you." His fingers wound tentatively into hers. "These are . . . all the memories and thoughts I have about you."

She looked between the planets and Vash, and he seemed to be waiting nervously for a response.

"Why is one of my moons all cracked up?"

Her brain faceplamed.

Vash barked out a laugh, his fingers tightening in hers, and she watched the tear on his face float away, frozen perfectly. "I don't really know," he admitted. "What I feel about you is . . . complicated, I guess."

She turned and studied the planets in a new light. It made sense that not all of his memories that included her would be happy ones. What was it he'd said? He'd gone through a lot of hell after he'd met them? Hesitantly, she reached out, brushing one of the rocks in the ring around the purple planet.

She suddenly saw herself, sitting flat on her backside, one derringer held in both hands over her head, clearly having discharged. It was from a distance, there were trees in the way, and then the scene changed, and she was staring at a large brown ball that was unfolding, tumbling head over heels between the trees. Mother of the Nebraska Family was staring, stunned, as her son tumbled to a stop far short of his intended target.

A silver Colt crossed the bottom of the scene, as if it was hers, and she was lowering it to holster it.

Meryl drew her fingertips back, and the rock stayed in place in the ring.

"I would have thought that was a good memory," she said softly. "We won that day, didn't we?"

Behind her, he was quiet, though his fingers never left hers.

"If . . . if I wanted to, you would let me look at everything, wouldn't you."

"Yes."

She looked down, watching a tiny little shard of light, the smallest little fragment of moon, slowly make its way around the purple-grey world. "There's only one reason you'd do that, Vash. That you'd do this."

Though she knew that he probably didn't have saliva, she clearly heard him swallow. "I . . . I don't know what's going to happen now. But you waited a long time for me to come back. I . . ." He hesitated, then stretched out their hands, indicating the grey, barren planet. "Knowing that, that's how it makes me feel."

And then he straightened his fingers, and his hand glided away.

True to his word, she didn't fall. She didn't move; she floated exactly where she was, and she watched the planets drifting, everything in its place.

Something he wanted to show her.

She didn't want to touch it. She knew that immediately. Whatever was beneath the surface of that grey, dead planet, it would be horrible. Knowing that he felt guilty, or suffered, because of the hurt she had felt, that didn't make her feel any better. He should have known that.

She splayed out her fingers, cold now that his were gone, and she reached out to take up the red planet.

She lay burning in the sand. Her arms were bound behind her, and everything ached. She could barely pick up her head, her vision out of focus, and in front of her, a figure in white was standing, back to her, arms outspread like an angel. The figure had black hair, her eyes strong and compassionate, and for a second, she seemed to blur with another woman.

Meryl was staring at herself.

She watched herself walking forward, arms outstretched not in defense but in welcome, walking towards a man with a gun. A man whose hands were shaking so badly she couldn't tell where the bullet would go. She heard herself talking, her voice didn't even sound like her own. And she felt something, deep in her stomach, a warm something that she hadn't allowed herself to feel in so long she almost didn't recognize it.

The scene changed. She was standing in a hotel room, leaning against a doorframe. Her right arm ached where a bullet had grazed it – more than a graze, but it would be alright. In the room, on the bed, she saw herself and Millie sprawled out, dead to the world. Her mouth had fallen open in her sleep, and her position was carelessly vulnerable. Her eyes didn't linger on the places she had always thought his would; instead, the eyes over which she had no control watched her face, relaxed in a carefree and exhausted sleep, and that warm feeling was just a shadow, so faint that she wasn't sure it was even there.

She blinked, staring down one of the men that had taken them hostage, and waited patiently for the ceiling fan to fall. A derringer, if she wasn't mistaken, nice and quiet in the noise the others had made. They had no idea. And somehow, a one shot derringer was just perfect for a girl like her. The fan landed exactly where it should have, on the threat behind her, and she focused on the one in front, who was just beginning to realize that he was on his own.

Meryl withdrew her hand, but the warm feeling, there in her stomach, it remained, and the planet pulsed at her, beckoning.

A long time. For a long time, he'd felt it and not even realized what it was.

This man, who had called her idiot before he'd used her real name, he loved her.

Meryl glanced between the red planet and the grey one, and then, without quite knowing why, she drew back her right foot and gave that dead planet a hard shove. It pushed her back, away from the system, but she saw immediately that it had done the same to the grey planet – it drifted outside of the dance, no longer in place, and she watched it grow smaller and smaller as she bumped into something solid behind her.

Her foot ached with cold, with loneliness, with fear, and with guilt. It ached with feelings that were too hard to sort out from such a quick exposure. Not that she needed to sort them out.

"That's not complicated at all," she said, hating how thick her voice sounded.

His arms came around her shoulders, timidly, and she leaned back into him. That seemed to give him courage; he hugged her close, his chin nestling into the hair on the top of her head.

"No, I guess not," he said at last. "Just scary."

Yes. That.

She tilted her head, trapping the hand on her left shoulder, and closed her eyes. "Can you see into my mind?"

". . . I could. But I haven't, I wouldn't have done this if-"

"If you could have just said it," Meryl finished for him. "Because you don't think you will."

Behind her, his chest constricted in a little hitch. "Don't wait for me."

"I . . . Vash-"

He hugged her closer still, and she wrapped her arms around his and promised herself that she was never going to let go.

He was silent a long moment. "I'll miss you."

She shook her head a little, hating that his skin was wet. "Please don't say it."

"I couldn't, last time. I can't do that again."

She sobbed into his arm. "Vash, there has to be another way, there has to –"

He squeezed her tight. "It's okay, Meryl. It's gonna be all right."

Meryl couldn't form any words, couldn't do anything but cling to his arms and cry. She didn't want to hear it, she knew what was coming next and she didn't want to hear it, if they could just float here forever that would be fine, even just another minute-

"Take care of them for me, okay?"

"No, no-"

He turned her around in his arms – no small feat – and the light from his face reached through her closed eyelids, opening them against her wishes. He was smiling through his tears, one of the rare real ones.

"Goodbye for now, Insurance Girl."

Her heart welled up in her throat, and Meryl leaned her forehead on his chin. ". . . I love you."

"I know." Vash's voice faltered. "I can feel it."

She squeezed him tight, trying to memorize the feeling of being in his arms, and then she leaned up and looked into his eyes.

"Now stop being a b-broomhead and concentrate on not killing yourself, got it?"

Though there was no depthless blue, somehow she had the impression of it, and he saluted smartly with an extra hand. "Yes ma'am!"

It only caught a little.

There was a flash of light, one she found she'd expected, and then all support dropped out from beneath her, and Meryl fell.

For a long moment, it seemed like she was going to fall forever, but her butt made contact with something incredibly unyielding, bruising her tailbone, and Meryl rolled painfully onto her back as she tried to get her bearings.

Searing light. The bulb was even brighter now than before. She flinched away, squeezing her eyes almost completely shut – and a blob of that light coalesced on the bottom curve of the bulb before falling in a thick glob to smack wetly against the floor.

The bulb was melting.

Meryl continued her roll, getting her feet under her, and she kept her back to the bulb, trying not to notice the radiant heat boring into the back of her head. "We have to go!" she bellowed, hoping she could be heard over the alarms. "We need to get out of here!"

There was an explosive release of gas as the melted globule of bulb began melting through the cave floor, and Meryl stumbled several yarz away from the bulb, searching frantically for Aaron and Elizabeth. She finally made them out, relieved to find they were even further from the bulb than she was. The cave was lit as if it was daylight, and Meryl watched one of the more distant female Plants fly straight at the cavern ceiling. It looked as if she was going to crash, but she disappeared into the surface like it wasn't there.

Meryl turned back to the bulb, but she could no longer make out whether Knives had held his position.

"Stryfe!" Carter bellowed, and she nodded and sprinted in their direction. There was one of those elevator doors by an unoccupied bulb, and Aaron gestured urgently. "Move!"

She slid the last few feet into the tiny cab, finding Elizabeth already pressed against the back, looking more openly frightened than Meryl had ever seen her. There was a terrific crack, as if the earth itself had broken, and then a series of crashes.

The ceiling was collapsing.

Carter crowded in behind her, and then the doors slid shut. The blue strip lighting seeming to be almost dark in comparison to what they had left, and the car juddered alarmingly. She wasn't sure it was actually moving, and they all heard a strange whine as more muffled crashes continued outside.

She and the engineer exchanged a look, and then the cab shuddered, and the blue lights blinked out.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: As usual, it's taking me forever to get to the point. The next chapter will probably answer quite a few questions, and come hell or high water it will be the second to last chapter. I expect to have it posted by the end of the night – if Knives will make up his effing mind. Meanwhile, thank you guys so much for sticking with this! It's wrapping up, I swear!


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Continuity Note**: I know I promised I would stop, but in this case I have stolen another concept from the manga. That concept is that a Plant can absorb another Plant. I don't believe it was ever directly mentioned in the anime.

-x-

Vash opened his hand and released the construct, a small, black cube. It was caught in the searing wind in an instant, carried along the current a moment before it began to flake apart. In moments it was utterly destroyed.

Whatever it was for, he was apparently finished with it.

Knives watched his brother another long moment, and as if he could sense him, Vash turned, his profile stark against his raging Gate. Then he buckled, his arms wrapping around his abdomen as if in pain.

"You came," he mumbled, and his voice sounded quite normal, almost contrite.

Knives very carefully didn't kill him outright, drifting away from the ring of their sisters, who seemed content to let them handle things. The moment he crossed that invisible line, the physical pain from their link faded significantly.

That was why it had been so hard to make contact. They were shielding him. Giving him time to figure it out. "So this is your decision, brother?"

Vash forced himself upright, turning away to evaluate the furious inferno before him. "I know you think it was stupid, but it worked, didn't it?"

Knives advanced against the solar wind, remaining in his humanoid form, and his brother let him approach, still getting buffeted by the streaming power of his Gate. It was like slogging through thick mud. "Your cells can no longer absorb the energy, you moron."

"I read your notes." Vash's voice had tightened, and he flinched again, dropping to one knee on nothing. "You don't know that for certain."

Apparently not shielding enough. Either that, or Vash was feeling the drain.

"By all means, prove me wrong."

Vash gusted out a shuddering sigh. "Doesn't seem to be slowing down, does it."

_Indeed not, brother._

Knives finally reached him, flexing his back and manifesting his own wings. The amount of energy Vash was expending was enormous. Probably he had already topped the energy releases in July and Augusta. "You're running out of time."

His brother glanced past him, to their sisters, but they had not approached. "Any ideas what to do from here?"

_I have only one, brother._

Vash looked back up at him, confused, and Knives gave him no time to react. He had always been better with their telepathy-based powers, frequently using them without even knowing how. Building – and then removing – that block was a perfect example.

And what he was about to do, it was certainly not limited to their physical abilities.

Knives pounced on him, pinning him onto a hastily conjured asteroid, and plunged both sets of arms directly into his brother's chest.

Vash retched beneath him, mouth wide, unable to believe what was happening, and Knives wrapped several sets of his wings around them, dragging his brother's body against his own. He fisted his hands within Vash's chest, crushing his ribs into paste and squeezing the corpuscles between his fingers, searching for the two things he knew he would not be able to destroy.

His Gate and his heart.

Vash was unable to even gasp, his lungs already crushed, and he brought up his forearm, weakly, and braced it against Knives' throat.

There wasn't enough strength in it to bother with, and more rooting around in his abdominal cavity weakened it further.

"Stop fighting, you're only making it worse," he grunted, and for once, staring into his brother's pain-filled eyes, he honestly regretted causing the damage. _You are giving me no choice, Vash!_

Blood came from his brother's mouth instead of words, he knew what it meant, it was meaningless with his Gate free-flowing, and then Vash's pupiless eyes narrowed, just a little, and Knives felt Vash's wing, trying to squirm its way from beneath his own. Felt his abdominal muscles tense around his fists, trying to pin them within his own body.

_What are you doing!?_

_The only thing I _can_ do, you moron. I'm absorbing your Gate._ He dragged Vash against his own belly, and where Vash's skin had been split, it began to glow, then melt against his own. _The only thing that can control your Gate now is mine._

Terror replaced the pain as Vash sluggishly realized what was happening to him, and Knives felt it, stabbing deep into his gut as it began to merge with Vash's.

_No! Stop, I don't –_

_What, you don't want to join with me? I'm stunned_, he snarled at his brother's mind. _I knew you were going to go back on your word the second you woke! I knew you would choose them!_

Vash gaped at him, and Knives felt his wing wriggle free, straining to catch the solar wind. It would do him no good, lack of proximity to that sun wouldn't stop this.

The sun was how Vash saw his Gate, but the true center of this world was Vash himself. Fighting with that sun was in essence fighting with Vash's mind. If he wanted Vash's true Gate, he had to get it from this manifestation of Vash himself.

_I choose both! I choose you _and_ them, Knives!_

_You CAN'T!_ Knives stared at him with something close to hatred. Their faces were only inches apart. _It was always them or us, Vash! Always!_

Something hard and sharp crashed into his back, sending his head flying backwards, and he struck his skull on what felt like rock. Momentarily stunned, he felt Vash rip himself away, tearing the skin on his belly, and Knives roared with pain, refusing to let go of Vash's spine.

But abruptly he wasn't holding on to anything. He was reclining on a bench, arms stretched along the seat back, staring at children noisily playing with a kickball across the dusty town square.

Vash had steered them into one of his memories.

Not well enough – Knives was still self-aware, and he stood abruptly, turning to glare at his brother. Vash was sprawled out exactly where he had been, but he moved rapidly as well, and then the bench was halved and someone screamed.

Vash had been quick, very quick, and crouched low on the ground, hand on his gun. "Knives, listen-"

"Vash, stop fighting me! You are going to _die_, do you understand?!"

"Then let me die!" Vash cut the air with an empty hand. "Death would be better than this! You might as well lock me in a cold sleep tube!"

Knives snarled and sent a wave of knives at his brother, forcing him to dodge towards the fountain. "If you believe death is better than life then why are you running away!"

"I will not let you use my Gate to kill them!" It came from between clenched teeth. "They _learned_, Knives! The humans on the New Kennedy did this! They did attack us! They did try to kill us! But the humans of Gunsmoke _saved_ you! You cannot ignore that!"

"Master," a voice murmured smoothly, behind him, and Knives paused, fury momentarily forgotten. That voice . . .

Before him, Vash paled, and Knives turned, so that he could make out the figure standing behind him, there in the corner of his eye.

"Yes," Knives murmured. "The humans of Gunsmoke _did_ learn, didn't they. I gave him your arm, brother. And what did he do with it?"

Most of the humans had already fled the plaza, but Legato Bluesummers didn't seem perturbed. He merely dropped to one knee, bowing in respect, and Knives started to laugh.

Of all the memories to careen into, it would be one of these.

"He may have learned cruelty at the hands of other humans, but is what you showed him any better?" Vash came out of his crouch warily. "Millie Thompson saved your life. Doc tried only to save us, to save me. Elizabeth put me in this bulb so that I could save myself. Give me a chance, Knives! Give all of us a chance!"

"I GAVE YOU A CHANCE!" Knives felt something in his throat tear. "And you chose _them!_"

Vash opened his mouth, but moment after moment was silent. He sighed, and a tear rolled down his cheek. It incensed Knives.

"And now you will cry and appeal to my sentimentalism, is that it? You should know by now, _brother,_ that I don't have any!" He gestured sharply, and Legato was on his feet instantly, already charging forward.

Vash sobbed, and then he pulled out his Colt. Knives had his own gun, but he didn't bother, Vash was going for Legato-

His brother raised the gun and pulled the trigger, not even bothering to look, and Bluesummers fell, dead before his body could taste the sand.

Knives blinked, a little startled, and Vash let his arm – and the Colt – fall to his side.

"I can't undo what's been done, Knives," Vash forced it out around a tight jaw. "I cannot undo the Great Fall. I cannot undo the last one hundred and twenty years."

"Irrelevant-."

"I chose to live with them over you," Vash continued harshly, as if he had not spoken. "I ran away from you, Knives, and I hid in the human settlements, because that was what I wanted. I wanted to be human. I wanted to be like Rem. And I . . . I _hated_ you, Knives. I hated you for what you did, and how you thought."

A hot breeze tumbled through the abandoned plaza, and Legato's body settled further. Vash stared at it like he thought Bluesummers might get back up.

"Did you hate me like that, Knives?" Vash's eyes slid behind his specs, from Legato to him. "I wonder."

Knives wasn't sure where Vash was heading. "Do you think I hate you, brother? Is that it?"

Vash's look was considering. "You know, I guess I should find out."

In one fluid motion he put the Colt to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

Knives' own head snapped back, the vague, strange tickling of the bullet passing through his own skull, and he realized with a start that within the memory, though they were standing apart, they were the same person.

Except Vash had just killed himself. His will was no longer part of the memory.

Vash had given up.

The plaza faded as he painstakingly curled himself off the memory, and he found his brother's face, just inches from his, eyes closed. There was still pain, in the skin between his eyebrows, but he had dropped his arm. He was no longer pushing against him. Vash's wing curled now not away from Knives' own, but entwined with them, and their abdomens sank together fluidly.

Vash's pain was no longer vague or faint.

His eyes opened, brilliant gold as he glowed, and they merged further still, up to their chests. Knives gasped at the sensation, it was breathtaking, and he clearly felt Vash's Gate within him, no longer hiding from his hands, but being presented. Almost like a gift.

_Take it, Knives. But know that when you take it, you're giving me yours._

It pulsed against his hands, like the Gates he had submerged into their guns. Resonating with his own, but hot, angry, still powerful. Knives stared at his brother, and Vash smiled at him.

_So . . . do you hate me, brother?_

The wind whipped angrily at his hair, but it was too short to move much, and his bodysuit kept the cold at bay easily. Knives stared out at the bulb, broken, just the bed of what remained, and beside him, Vash knelt, rubbing some of the ash between his fingers.

"I did hate you." It was easier to say, somehow, when they were here, in his mind. "I did what I did for both of us, Vash, and you just wouldn't see that."

"You lived here for the both of us," Vash murmured, as if he was tasting it. They were atop one of the tallest structures in Knives' mind, the surface wasn't nearly as choked with debris as the lower levels, and Knives took a step forward, to the end of the dilapidated building, and looked down.

So many open doors, in those alleys and streets. Doors that should have been closed.

"It wasn't really her fault, she's just curious by nature," Vash called, still crouched where he had been. "How many memories have you locked away?"

That was what Millie Thompson had done to his mind.

She had opened all those doors.

"Are you going to put me in one of those rooms?"

Knives stared down at the city for a long time. "You wouldn't stay there."

A surprised laugh. "No, I wouldn't," he agreed. "You know, it's funny to me that your mind is a city. Cities are built by humans, not Plants."

The wind howled, and Knives thought he caught a glimpse of movement, deep at the heart of the structures.

"Your mind is ruins, Knives. Doesn't that bother you?"

"What do you want from me, Vash?" He turned on his heels, glaring at his brother. "You are all that I cared about, and you chose _them_."

But Vash was shaking his head. "I chose both, Knives. I wish you could see that."

Knives flung out his arm. "And what did choosing both Plants and humans get Rem, Vash? What did choosing both get that foolish human Thompson? It _killed_ them, and it's killing you!"

"And what did choosing Plants get you, Knives?" Vash gestured at the city. "I'm still alive. And I _can_ choose both, brother. Finally. I know that now. It'll work this time, because something's changed."

Knives curbed the impulse to roll his eyes. "Two humans confusing me for you is not change."

"I doubt Millie or Doc changed much at all in the last couple weeks." Vash's smile was almost fond. "I'm talking about _you_, idiot."

Knives stared at his brother, not quite sure he understood, and Vash's fond grin did not fade. "I saw what happened in your lab. You saved his life, Knives. Doc was dying, and you saved him."

Trust Vash to bring that up. "I needed him for data mining, nothing more-"

"And yet he's still alive. You trashed the lab, but you didn't kill him. Why not?"

Knives glared at him, and Vash calmly folded his legs, falling onto his ass on the top of the building. "You don't really know, do you."

There was no time for lies, not anymore. Not if Vash was already too weak to stand. Soon his brother would become what he wanted him to be, rather than who he was. Soon his mindscape would mold Vash into what he always should have been.

Soon Vash would become a lie, parroting back everything he ever wanted to hear his brother say.

"Help me," Vash said quietly. "Knives, I've forgiven you. It's time to forgive yourself."

"I don't-"

"Don't make me one more door to punish yourself with." It was pleading. "You don't have to stay here anymore. Stop hating, and start healing. I'm here with you, Knives, and I won't leave again. I swear it."

His brother closed his eyes, and even without his telepathy, Knives could sense how sincere it was.

No. It was more than sensing.

It was like feeling the emotion himself.

It was like feeling _her_ emotions.

_If you stop fighting, it will stop hurting!_

Vash was right. This wasn't saving him. This was destroying him. And it was something he was going to regret for the rest of his life.

Knives shoved hard, spreading his wings wide, and was alarmed to find that Vash's face was no longer visible in front of his own. A great protrusion jutted out of his chest, feathers and hair and the ridge of a spine, but their skin was melded together. He felt another pulse against his own, but faltering and faint, and the sun beyond them glared malevolently, a deep resentful red.

It was too late. The absorption was nearly complete.

Vash's Gate was nearly contained.

Knives scanned the universe frantically, but the stars were gone, just nebulas and giant clouds of gases.

Vash's mind was beginning to look like their sisters.'

Knives closed his eyes. _To me_! he sent, frantically, and they were there immediately. Their confusion was prominent, and he arched his back, trying to shove the protrusion away.

_He cannot merge with me. Get him out!_

If they didn't understand his reasons, they certainly understood the sentiment. His sisters reached into his chest as he had reached into his brother's, their fingers splitting his skin, their nails cutting away at the tendons connecting them. It was unbearable, it was more painful than being cut in half, and he screamed, grabbing his own wrists behind his back to prevent himself from striking them.

It didn't take them long to rip Vash free, and the blood that sprayed into the air froze into solid darts before it was reclaimed by their gravity, sucking back into the wounds as the skin closed over them. In a few moments, it was over.

Knives gasped, curled around himself, trying only to breathe. The moment Vash was fully separated the sun blazed back to life, and Vash groaned, stirring as the fog around them gathered itself back into celestial bodies. Aliya cradled Vash with several limbs, stroking his hair as she had done before, and Vash coughed weakly, wing wrapped around himself.

Jain was on the other side of Vash, trying to protect him from the buffeting, and she frowned at Knives. The thought she sent was urgent. _Act_.

But what was there to do? Vash had no control over his Gate, and absorbing him was the same as letting him burn out. By now he'd probably cut a hole through the bulb, his death was imminent –

Jain reached over her sister, offering an arm, and it took Knives a moment to realize that it wasn't one of her own. She was actually holding a human arm, offering it to Vash.

His eyes were screwed shut, back vaulted as if someone was stabbing him, but somehow, he sensed it, and recoiled with a half-formed thought of horror. Knives skimmed his mind, he recognized that arm-

It was the short woman's. Meryl. It was Meryl's right arm.

To replace the one that he no longer hand . . . but what effect would that have on his Gate, a full set of wings was not required for humanoid types -

The old man. The old man had asked him about regeneration.

_Vash, your arm._ He couldn't catch his breath, telepathy would have to do. _Regeneration requires high levels of energy, and it will affect your entire cellular structure. Regenerate your arm, and your cells might recalibrate._

Vash shuddered in Aliya's grasp, and Knives gritted his teeth as Vash's pain seeped over the link. A glance told him that the circle of their sisters had cut by half.

It hurt them too much to continue shielding them.

_I . . . I don't know how-_

_. . . neither do I._ Not without a bulb, Conrad, and a few decades. Granted, all Vash needed was an arm, it was less extensive, but it was nothing he could manage in the few minutes he had left. _Vash, just concentrate._

His brother shuddered, his gasps sharp and quick. _You need to leave. You're too close._

That was probably true. Some of the pain he was feeling was probably his own. But his shift from human to Plant had been a literal one; his Plant physiology would survive this. _Irrelevant._

_Let them go. For me. Let them go and continue the project._

Knives batted the stray thought aside, gathering instead the memories surrounding the years after July. How it had felt. How his Gate had responded. There wasn't time to sanitize the memories; he bundled them down the link, all the thoughts he'd had, lying in that tube. All the loathing. All the disbelief. All the loneliness.

And all his dreams.

He'd always wondered why Vash chose to bear his scars. Why he had not regrown the limb. He'd told himself it was because Vash hadn't forgiven him for taking it, wanted to keep the reminder, but he could feel, now, that that wasn't it at all.

_You can do this, Vash. Focus._

His brother cried out, hardly louder than a whimper, and Knives clenched his jaw until the spell passed. The blood on his hands burned.

Neither one of them would be able to hold it together much longer.

_It's okay, Knives. You saved me, you know._

_Shut up and concentrate, you moron!_

_Even if . . . if this doesn't work . . . I know that you'll be okay now. _

An image of Rem flashed across Knives' mind, and he couldn't help but see that damned human's face behind hers.

"Vash, take care of Knives!"

The memory was Vash's.

_Told you the tall one was a doozy._

Aliya stroked Vash's hair once more, then regretfully released him. His knotted wing, still singular, caught the solar wind, tumbling him past, and Knives reached out to catch him, only to have Jain move between them.

_Get out of my way -_

_Let them go. For me. Please._

Something hooked his belly button through the small of his back, just like before, when Vash's mindscape had been collapsing, and the link sucked him away. He could see his fingers, straining to catch Vash's limp ankle, but he was so small and so far away, and Knives' hands were burning.

-x-

The crack was deafening in the enclosed space, and then the engineer grunted, and really put her back into it. She had little room for leverage, but she was making it count, and Meryl braced herself against what she thought was the wall until Carter shifted, just a little.

The doors whined in protest, but they continued to slip open, and they half pushed, half crushed Elizabeth out into the late afternoon sunlight.

Meryl wasn't quite as slender, but she was much smaller, and she wedged her back against one door almost before Elizabeth had gone through, bracing her foot against the other and shoving with all her might.

Once Aaron got his arms in, she was sure it wouldn't close on him, and she tumbled out herself, scrambling to her feet and grabbing Aaron's belt. Elizabeth was already up, and had grabbed the other side, and the two women yanked him forward.

They landed in a heap as the doors slammed closed, sucking down the hot air, and Meryl couldn't believe it when Aaron got up and dusted himself off like nothing had happened. In almost complete darkness, they had dismantled the top of the cabin, crawled up gods only knew how many yarz of cable, tried and failed to trigger the door mechanism, had nearly been crushed to death when an explosion had hurtled the cabin back up to them, and then forced open the doors with zero time to spare-

She sat up quickly, eyeing the valley floor. The white sheds, that had seemed so haphazard, now the pattern made sense. Most of them were emitting what appeared to be a white smoke, but she knew better.

Steam. It was steam, that was hissing up from beneath them. Hot enough to burn.

But the majority of the valley still seemed intact.

How could that be, when the rock ceiling had been coming down . . . ?

"We need to move to higher ground. Now."

Northern higher ground.

The engineer had gathered herself as well, rubbing her left wrist painfully, and she did not protest. Meryl couldn't stop staring at the valley, straining to hear his voice.

Vash . . . ? Can you hear me?

"Don't space out again, Stryfe," Carter barked, and she jumped at the unexpected sound.

In her mind, there was only silence.

_Don't wait for me._

Meryl felt her fists balling at her sides, but after a moment, she turned on her heels. One foot in front of the other. Vash's distraction had worked. It was time for them to leave, to get as far as they could.

At the very least, get to safe ground.

Carter was watching her closely, but she didn't look at him again, woodenly jogging up the hill after them. They didn't take the footpaths, and she was glad of it when the valley shifted silently beneath her feet, sending her onto her aching backside yet again, this time into tall grass.

The low rumble was barely audible, but it didn't subside, and all three of them exchanged a look, then stared back down at the valley.

"Miss Elizabeth-"

"If he goes into a Last Run and overwhelms that bulb, the valley rim won't protect us," she cut him off, almost emotionlessly. "There's no point in running. We'll just die tired."

"Is that-"

To the south of the shed they had escaped through, about twenty yarz, there was a circle of grass about three yarz in diameter, and it appeared to be –

Glowing?

Plants erupted from the circle, a golden, green, steaming mass of bodies and limbs and wings. They rose into the air like a covey of frightened birds, but they gained very little altitude before they faltered back to the ground, and without a thought Meryl ran straight for them.

They were carrying something. Someone. Someone who had not been able to carry themselves.

"Meryl, no!"

She only got about ten yarz herself before someone caught her, again by the jacket, she bent backwards in an effort to slip out of it but he'd anticipated that, and in the next instant she was in his arms. It wasn't at all like Vash; he held her completely off the ground, panting in her ear.

"Wait," he grunted. "Just wait-"

In front of the pile of Plants, the valley began to rise. It was as if a giant was sleeping beneath the earth, and the grasses of Eden were his blanket. The giant's knee rose, and then he turned onto his side, and nearly an acre of land collapsed in on itself with a roar that was almost silent.

Meryl would have fallen if Carter had not been holding her up; she wasn't sure how he stayed on his feet. The ground had severed only a few yarz from the Plant pile, and the glowing sisters shifted heavily, as if exhausted.

From inside the pile of glowing bodies, a human arm flopped into view.

Meryl watched, hardly daring to breathe, and less than thirty yarz away, the steaming, naked form of Millions Knives levered himself up, away from the other Plants. His hands were glowing, a strange greenish reddish gold, and he held them up in front of himself, studying them.

Then he dropped them, and stared down at the chasm that had once hidden the underground caverns.

Carter shifted, setting Meryl down cautiously on her feet and pushing her behind him. She didn't struggle; she had eyes only for the Plants, watching them slowly disentangling themselves. There were six, seven –

A mobile Plant swept into view, from the forest, and Meryl recognized her as the Plant from Hondelic. The Plant that had flown away into the ceiling.

Eight.

But there had been nine, beside Vash.

Had one of them stayed . . . ?

She glanced at the forest, trying to pick out anything else glowing, and Carter moved again, cutting into her view. She took a step to his right, to see around him, and he put out his arm.

"Don't move."

He was looking at something glowing in the sunlight, the missing Plant-

Meryl blinked, and then she realized her mistake.

He was looking at Librett.

The mutant stood almost equidistant between the Plants and them, also cockeyed, keeping one ear towards Knives. But Knives didn't acknowledge him. He was staring at the enormous wound in the valley, studying it intently.

And Librett held his position.

They stared at one another for a while, but nothing else happened, save the settling of the angry earth. No further explosions. No more glowing. The dangerous rumble was gone, and all Meryl could hear was the sound of wind in trees.

There was no more activity from the chasm.

"Stryfe, back up towards the trucks. Slowly. You get to the supplies, and you make tracks."

He had said he would handle Librett and Wright.

But Knives was there, there would be no handling anything-

"Move. Now."

Meryl hesitated, then took a step back. Then another.

Nothing happened.

She continued to back up – and Librett let her. Carter stayed exactly where he was, just watching, and she was far enough up the hill past him that she could see the Plants again, see Knives –

And then he looked up, straight at her.

Meryl froze. Yet his gaze didn't linger; he dropped his chin after a moment, staring not at them but at Librett.

"Take them to the border. The old man as well. Give them sufficient supplies to make it to April." His voice was expressionless, almost a monotone. He might as well have been ordering his boots shined.

Once the instruction was issued, he turned back to the crater, just staring.

It seemed that after that, shock set in. Meryl recalled following obediently as they were led up the footpath by the nimble-footed mutant, fully visible. She remembered methodically packing what they would need from the neat piles that had been made under their tarps. She folded up one of their blankets to serve as a pillow, the light blue one that Vash – or maybe Knives - had worn when they'd arrived.

She watched Librett hand Doc to Carter, and how gently the bodyguard maneuvered the frail, limp little body into the cab. There was no question; she hopped into the back of the truck, sitting against the wall of the cab on a folded up tarp, her head shifting bonelessly on her neck as the engineer followed suit, rocking the suspension.

The engine turned over, and Carter guided the vehicle across the rim, following the rocks. Far below, in the valley, she could still make out the site of the destruction, the pastel yellow of the Plants, still sprawled in the grass, and the lone figure that could have been Vash, at this distance-

Except he wasn't.

Carter turned down the embankment, jostling them, and Eden was swallowed by the valley wall.

Then it was green and red, as far as the eye could see.

It took a long time to sink in. They had come back down the hill and the truck picked up speed, cruising along the flat limestone that they had traveled not a week before. It was cleaner sailing; the grasses were tall and plentiful, and everywhere she looked, small red wildflowers nodded in the wind of their pickup.

The suns were low on the horizon before they came to the end of it, where the grasses faded to a deep, beautiful gold, just the tips shifting as they passed.

Just like a broom.

Eden had spread, by tens of iles.

Meryl let her head rest against the glass of the cab wall, watching twilight set in. Aaron would drive all night, she was sure of it. There would be no stopping. She should sleep, so that she could take over when he tired.

"You did what he asked you to," she heard her mouth say. "He would have thanked you."

The engineer was silent beside her, jostling along in the dim. "He did," she managed.

They rode in silence, and the stars hesitantly peered out, checking to see if it was over.

"I forgive you," Meryl said clearly, and beside her, Elizabeth fell apart.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: Believe it or not, there's just one chapter left. I was going back through this beast, trying to figure out which city it was they were closest to when they arrived at Eden – and wow, did we spend a lot of time here. One of you noted that this story kind of got stuck like Harry Potter, with our heroes in the woods . . . that was a very good analogy, one that looking back seems very accurate.


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

**Three Weeks Later**

The sand steamer was just a mournful cry in the distance, kicking up a bright pink cloud of dust, and Meryl Stryfe paused, letting her bag stand unattended on the street for a moment to shift the bangs out of her eyes.

It seemed a lifetime ago she'd left Collins. It didn't even smell the same.

They said the funny, heavy, heady smell was humidity. If the wind was coming from the west, she would even be tempted to believe it.

But it wasn't. If she closed her eyes, it ever so slightly reminded her of a starry night in the bed of a truck, and red wildflowers.

Everywhere there were signs of change. The primary water vein that ran along the crescent of settlements on Gunsmoke had increased pressure, blowing wells left and right. Collins had never been a dull town, but now that the heat of the day had passed, there was a festive mood, and she grabbed the handle of her suitcase very firmly before steeling herself, head down, and plowing into the sea of humans.

She didn't look up at the bulb, softly glowing against the dusky sky.

She didn't need to. Her whirlwind journey had taken her from April to Mei by way of sandsteamer, then by thomas on the back roads to reach the Thompson compound. She could only bear to stay there one night, on the road the next morning with laden saddlebags. After that, it had been on to New Oregon, where she'd met up with Elizabeth, Aaron, and Doc. They had gone by truck to the ship; Doc was in far too delicate condition to travel by thomas, but it looked like he'd live.

She was fairly sure he was aware the day they left, she could have sworn she saw his eyes slit open, but Jessica had promised she would send word as soon as he was well again, and insisted that they visit.

They hadn't told the people on the ship. They were still too new to Gunsmoke, too new to the concept that they were going to have to face the same horrors as everyone else. There was no point in telling them about Knives.

She hadn't even put it in the reports.

Which had made her week long debriefing at Bernardelli that much more difficult. Explaining Millie's death, over and over again, a freak stroke, an unexpected tragedy. The fight with the gang of bandits on a dilapidated SEEDs ship, and Vash the Stampede at the heart of it.

Even the Chief had raised an eyebrow at that. "I thought you were his champion, Meryl."

She had fidgeted in the chair, toying with the hem of her own, familiar coat, wondering why it felt so strange. "So did I, sir."

It was important to keep the illusion of Vash the Stampede alive, because without him, there was absolutely nothing she could do about the fact that the bulb in Collins was still glowing.

And because of him, she had been sent back – as she knew she would be, it wasn't like they had a choice with the other insurance deals they'd brokered – alone, this time, to Collins, to continue working on the Plant replacement project.

The Plant replacement project that was falling apart around their ears.

A few teens galloped by, nearly upsetting her suitcase, and Meryl squawked and held onto her luggage for dear life. Carter had said they'd be holed up in the Blue Sky hotel, which was relatively swanky, and just the kind of place an esteemed engineer like Miss Elizabeth Boulaise would be found. It was rather centrally located, meaning it was going to take a while to walk there, and for the millionth time, Meryl Stryfe wondered why Bernardelli Insurance could never find it in their hearts – or their pocketbooks – to send their agents in any class other than coach.

At least there hadn't been any bandits, this time. Millie would've-

Meryl pressed her lips together and kept walking.

Spirits were still high even away from the sand steamer port. Live musicians were belting out jazz into the cooling night air, couples were dancing and laughing, and loud whoops and screams told of more raucous entertainment a few scant blocks away. Still, the lobby of the Blue Sky was like an oasis. It truly _was_ blue, a lovely deep shade, not turquoise like the oceans of Earth were said to be but a real blue, like the cenotes in Little Arcadia.

Still empty, but blue just the same.

It was a very large room, with round divans and cushions scattered in intimate groupings, encouraging the hotel guests to enjoy the hotel's full service bar, and Meryl passed them with only one or two thoughts of just collapsing then and there and sleeping the night away. There was only more work waiting for her upstairs, she could be sure of that.

After all, what was Elizabeth going to do with Collins' Plant? Even though the sabotage efforts effectively ended with the death of the crew of the New Kennedy, it wasn't as if she could just put the Plant in a trunk and call it a day.

But that was just one more entry on her checklist, counting down the days until we interrupt this radio show to bring you urgent news; the city of December appears to have been completely destroyed, I repeat ad nauseum, then speculate it was the work of the Humanoid Typhoon, Vash the Stampede, who is also stealing Plants and causing the suns to go out.

Or something.

The clerk at the desk was a young man, with sharp cheekbones and permanently startled brown eyes. "Good evening, miss."

Meryl was surprised she still looked good enough to qualify for 'miss.' "The same to you. I'm here to see a guest, Elizabeth Boulaise and party?"

"Ah, yes." He made a show of consulting his ledger, but his tone made it clear he knew _exactly_ which party. It was rather difficult for Elizabeth to stay anywhere near men with pulses without their knowing every detail about where she was staying, who she was speaking with, what she was or was not wearing-

"That party has rented out several rooms, 3012 through 3016. The elevator will take you there, just at the end the of hall and to the right of the pool."

She nodded her thanks, angling the luggage to roll once again on its tired wheels, and continued until she heard the pleasant trickle of water. The pool was really quite large for an indoor fountain, she would have loved to plant herself face first in it, but instead she watched the water ripple across the bathtub sized reflecting pool before almost regretfully hitting the call button.

Time to find out what other nasty surprises lay in store.

The cab of the elevator clanged and clattered into view, manned by a bellhop, and it was surprisingly difficult not to think of the elevator in the valley as it ratcheted its way up two stories. That was probably shorter than the distance they'd gone, even though it seemed to take the same amount of time. Nowhere near as smooth as the lifts on the New Kennedy.

Once on the correct floor, the bellhop indicated the correct direction, and Meryl came to a stop before room 3012. She didn't knock; she didn't need to. Before she'd even found the energy, it opened, and he unblinking looked her up and down.

She managed eye contact. "I look that bad?"

He grunted, then pulled open the door. "Worse, actually. We expected you yesterday."

"Thanks." Aaron Carter, lord of tact.

"Don't mention it," he quipped, and she found a sudden little smile on her lips.

"Where's your partner in crime?" It had only been a little over a month since she'd last met Tallow, Milton, and she hoped he'd be a little more helpful this time around.

Carter closed the door behind her, and Meryl realized that it wasn't just a room – it was a suite. A double set of doors were opened through the wall that should have contained the adjoining room. To her immediate left was an ornate, deep burgundy door that led into what appeared to be a sumptuously appointed bathroom.

Something else Bernardelli didn't usually spring for.

"I am going to apply to the EF," she announced, to no one in particular, and her luggage disappeared from her hand.

"I wouldn't. Crappy insurance. The guys are downstairs, you should have seen them in the lobby. If not, they're doing rounds." Aaron carried her bag like it weighed no more than an infant. "Bedrooms are two rooms over. Dinner was a few hours ago, but I'll have them send something up."

Meryl shook her head, with something like overwhelming gratitude bubbling up in her throat. "Thanks, but I'm good."

He didn't contradict her, leading her into the next room, but she had the distinct impression that he was going to ignore her.

"I don't look that bad," she protested. "Coach is very small and there's not enough space to hang things, so my uniform's a little wrinkled-"

"Meryl, men will find your flaws without your help." The arch voice came from a large desk, which was drowning in schematics. The engineer had slipped into a little green number, bent at the waist and poring over what looked like a series of pipes on a scaffold. "Accept the favor gracefully."

Meryl bristled, but bit back her retort at a quiet glance from Carter. Normalcy. The woman was looking for normalcy.

The problem was, they didn't have it. They'd never been best friends. There was no comfortable routine like there had been with Va-

And trust, badly frayed, was going to have to be mended.

"You're probably right." She wondered if it sounded as ridiculous to the engineer as it did to her.

Elizabeth froze, stooped over, and then her back shook as she laughed. "I guess I don't look much better," she admitted, and then turned on her hip, slouching against the desk. Meryl was shocked at just how terrible she _did_ look. Her face was so thin it was almost gaunt, her jawbones were sharp enough to slice bread. Beneath the makeup was that same ashy complexion she'd worn in the cavern beneath Eden.

"You're not eating enough," Meryl said firmly. "We had this discussion-"

"Yes, mother, I'm aware," Elizabeth interrupted, but it was without heat. "Nothing tastes good anymore."

Meryl hesitated. That was certainly true.

"I take it you've heard nothing since last we spoke?"

The engineer cast a look towards the window, when a particularly shrill young person managed to make themselves heard. "Inepral City received a shipment yesterday."

It took her a second to realize what Elizabeth was saying. A shipment. She wasn't talking about a shipment from the EF.

"What kind of shipment?"

"The usual." The engineer's long fingers found an invoice and tugged it free of the pile. "Everything we need to complete the extraction. Panels, cables, the support structure, the transformer farm. It arrived on the steamer we expected you to take."

Meryl ignored the reminder of her delay. "So Knives wasn't manufacturing the equipment."

Elizabeth snorted. "That was a given. We knew he'd outsource this work, it's not fine enough to have been manufactured by Plants. The solar panels contain components he'd have had to synthesize, but with shipping and secrecy as important as it was, he likely shipped them materials in bulk."

Carter strode back into the room, sans luggage. "I'm going to take a look outside," he said without preamble, staring at the window beside them, and the women paused to listen.

The festive air was getting a little _too_ rambunctious.

Meryl raised her eyebrows, but he didn't seem especially keyed up, he simply nodded to her and headed back to the first room. They heard the door close firmly behind him, and Meryl couldn't help but cock her ear to the screams in the street.

Whatever was going on, it was starting to get serious.

"Is this hotel safe?"

The engineer nodded, staring thoughtfully at the window. "Yes, they have a private security force as well as my men. The water veins have been flowing past capacity, so the entities that used to profit from skimming off the top have seen their profits dry up, so to speak. Collins is a little rough. It's not the first evening things have gotten out of hand."

She took a cleansing breath, then bit her lip, focusing on the schematics all around her. "The gas lines have been repaired, and all the core systems checked and rechecked. There's no further damage. We have what we need to actually complete the uninstallation here, and in Inepral City as well."

Business as usual.

Meryl hesitated. "Elizabeth, we agreed to keep things under wraps as long as possible, but where do you think we can hide a _Plant_? Are you seriously suggesting we drop her off on Eden's border? Hello, Knives, long time no see. How are things? We just thought we'd stop by for a quick chat and to drop off one of your sisters. Toodles?"

"I'm not taking it off the table." The engineer slipped off the edge of the desk, absently pacing. "Meryl, if Knives hasn't contacted us, and he hasn't contacted whoever he outsourced his manufacturing to, until they run out of raw materials, they'll probably do exactly what we're doing."

Pretend everything was fine.

"If we complete this conversion, and move on to Inepral City, we can delay the others without arousing suspicion by saying there was an unexpected shortage of materials. We can intercept the shipments of solar equipment and just store them. Then we can let the project stall, Bernardelli isn't out any additional policies, and the EF won't push. We'll have completed ten conversions and that's an excellent pilot number. They'll be more interested in training crews on the solar plants we already have."

Meryl chewed on that for a moment. Without Vash to threaten the next mayor, the cities would be happy to keep quiet and continue using their current Plants.

"No word at all, from Knives?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I checked all the newspapers and listened to every radio show I could catch. No mass murders, no sudden disappearances, no bloody names written in town squares." Nothing at all. No retaliation, either from Knives or whomever might have survived the New Kennedy. "I guess we do need to revise our contingency plan," Meryl finally conceded. "Frankly, I didn't think we'd get this far."

The engineer rubbed her wrist. "Neither did I."

There was a brief silence, punctuated by a scream that clearly indicated terror.

They exchanged a look, and then as one they headed for separate windows. The windows were closed against the music on the street and the heat of the day, and Meryl fumbled with the locks before she could throw them open. They sealed well; the street was in pandemonium, and the sound hit her in the face like a wet towel. It was almost a riot as people streamed in every direction –

Except towards the hotel.

Meryl glanced down, straight down, and a flash of deep red flitted just out of sight beneath the Blue Sky's welcoming canopy.

She turned to her right, not surprised to see Elizabeth also hanging out of her window, and they both stared at each other. Meryl leaned back into the room, reaching to pull the windows closed and stunned to see that her hands were perfectly steady.

Lots of people wore red. It was probably a local crime boss, looking for a nice bar or a quiet room for some relaxing murdering. Or someone actively attempting to impersonate the Stampede, seeing as he always showed up on the eve of Plant decommissioning, and this one had been especially long in coming.

Yes, that was it, she thought to herself absently as she flipped her traveling cloak over her shoulder, just to visually reassure herself that she still had all her derringers.

The engineer had also yanked her window closed, but she was much less calm; it took her several tries to get the latches to catch, and she pulled the curtains closed as well, almost clinging to them. Her fingers were white.

"He wouldn't," she breathed. "He wouldn't, he would think it too demeaning-"

Her pre-decommissioning crew in Inepral City had received a shipment. And they had everything they needed to complete the Collins extraction tonight.

Vash would have shown up tonight, to meet with the city's leadership, and take the Plant.

"It's not," Meryl said firmly, ignoring the sound of sprinting footsteps thundering down their hallway. "It's unrelated. You'll see."

They listened to the long distance runner pound to the very end of the hallway, and they heard the stairway door slam open. There was a long silence, and then the muffled click of the door quietly closing.

Then nothing.

"There's no point in running," Elizabeth assured the room. "If he's found us here, he'd find us anywhere."

The two women contemplated that for another few seconds, then broke for the far room.

It was indeed the bedroom, with two very large double beds, and Meryl didn't even consider grabbing her luggage. Too heavy, too unwieldy. She had her wallet in her cloak, and she'd just gotten a paycheck. Elizabeth would have access to EF cars, so it was more than enough.

The engineer didn't even glance at her own belongings, and her long legs got her to the door first. She pressed her ear to it, listening intently, then she gave a nod and tore it open. The door put them out halfway down the hall, and they sprinted for the stairwell doorway.

Elizabeth pulled it open, and Meryl realized they had just made a mistake.

The stairwell was not empty.

Apparently other guests were as concerned with getting up the stairs as they were with getting down. The third floor stairwell door had been locked from the inside, so that guests already on the third floor could use it to go down – but they had to go back up via the lobby.

It was a safety precaution, to prevent unauthorized access to guest rooms.

And as soon as they opened the floodgates, they were overwhelmed.

Meryl was tackled backwards as a barrel-chested bearded man saw the open door and leapt at it. He plowed directly into her, bodily carrying her back into the hallway.

"Get outta the way, ya dumb broad! Don't you know what's down there!?"

"Get off me!" Meryl shoved herself away from him, stumbling hard into the wall and bouncing back off into the stream of panicked people. She cried out as one of her earrings caught in the veil of someone's hat and was yanked out, and a rough hand settled on her right arm.

Meryl tugged at her arm, but the twenty-something blond didn't let go, barely even glancing at her. He wrenched her back towards him, clearing and then rushing into the empty space that was created as bodies scattered into the hall, and behind her, she heard Elizabeth shouting.

"Gimme your key," the blond hissed into her ear, swinging them against the wall, and Meryl grabbed a derringer left-handed and jabbed him in the eye with the muzzle.

If a gun went off in this hallway, there was no telling how bad it would get.

The man howled and released her, and Meryl hastily gave ground, scanning the passage. A lanky young man with tousled brown hair scurried past not three yarz away, dragging Elizabeth by the elbow. The engineer was no slouch when it came to hand to hand, but quarters were close. Before Meryl could find a path across the streaming people, Elizabeth found a little room to maneuver and struck out, but her attacker melted into the doorframe, and Meryl realized with a start that he had opened one of the room doors.

The one they'd just left.

He'd picked Elizabeth's pocket.

The engineer got her foot through the door, preventing him from locking them out, and she reached out one of her long arms.

She didn't have to offer twice.

Meryl leapt for her, catching her left wrist and wincing on behalf of the engineer, who also didn't seem to realize which hand she had offered. They weren't the only two people to see that a room door had been opened, and then Meryl was surrounded by cries and elbows, one of them glancing off her temple-

The engineer gave a hard yank, and Meryl found herself sprawling onto thick carpeting. The door slammed, it sounded like it was right above her, cutting the hallway din to an unpleasant murmur. Meryl gingerly touched her skull, drawing back her fingers.

Blood. Not a lot. Just a small cut.

She gathered her knees under her, hastily scanning the room, and found Elizabeth standing just over her, arms crossed as a way of cradling her left wrist. She was slightly out of breath, glaring at the intruder plastered to the door, who looked slightly wild-eyed himself.

"Are you all right? Both of you?"

In fact, there by his left eye was a mole.

Meryl tried to blink the slight fuzziness away, still gripping her derringer. His hair was a dull brown, long and drooping in his too-dark eyes. His left jacket sleeve – it was tan, it was a normal thomas-hide traveling coat – wasn't empty.

But his tone . . .

"Vash?" It was Elizabeth who found her voice first. Then she covered her mouth.

He checked the lock one more time and stepped forward immediately, taking her left hand into his own and pushing back the sleeve of her green gown, examining her wrist. It seemed only seconds before he was crouching in front of Meryl, and it wasn't a trick of the light or his hair, his blue-green eyes really _were_ too dark-

"I'm sorry, I thought you had -" His fingers were feather-light on her face, and Meryl jerked her head back, shoving the derringer under his chin. He froze with his hand still in midair, eyes comically wide.

"Who . . . the hell . . . are you?"

He stared at her, eyebrows raised the way he always did when he was silently asking permission to speak, and Meryl pushed him back using the derringer. "Don't touch me."

"Uh. . . Insurance Girl . . . you're bleeding."

Her stomach lurched, and he seemed to sense it, because he lifted his chin and carefully slid his left index finger over the mouth of the gun. "Meryl. It's okay. It's me."

Her rock-steady hand was no longer rock-steady, and she almost heard the echo of her father's voice as she withdrew her finger from the trigger cage and let the stranger take her gun.

His eyes were too dark.

Elizabeth took a step back from them, glancing at the door. "Knives – it's Knives in the lobby, isn't it-"

Vash nodded, though he never broke eye contact with her. "Yes. We need to leave."

He waited another beat, but Meryl just glared at him, and he straightened, expression sad. Elizabeth took a deep breath, then walked very stiltedly up to him. Meryl was certain she was going to hit him; her eyes could have cut glass.

"Explain yourself, Spot. Now."

He seemed stunned; then some kind of realization settled across his face. "Yes, mistress," he murmured deferentially, eyes downcast. "But you probably want to sit down first."

Her pet name for him.

She was testing to see if it was really him. If this stranger was really Vash.

Elizabeth didn't look convinced, but her mask was deeply cracked. "Why is Knives in the lobby?"

His grimace looked a little more grim. "Vash the Stampede is in the lobby," he corrected quietly. "He'll be up as soon as he's made his point."

"And what exactly is his point?" Her voice was brittle.

"He's taking the city's Plant tonight, like he said he would."

She seemed almost at a loss for words. "Can . . . can you not-"

"Please." He gestured at the bed. "I'll explain everything, just would you please sit down? Both of you?"

Elizabeth studied him intently for a moment. "I thought we needed to leave. Or are . . . are we _waiting_ for Knives?"

His adam's apple bobbled, and then he glanced at his feet, inadvertently making eye contact with Meryl.

"Yes, we're waiting for Knives," he confirmed softly. "He won't be long."

Neither of the women moved, and the stranger scrubbed his hand through his dull hair. In the overhead light, Meryl could see a cloud of dust spring up around him. _ Dye_, her mind noted clinically, _cooked by the suns_. He'd spent most of the day outdoors, then.

"I would have sent word ahead, but I didn't think . . . I didn't think you'd believe it."

"I wouldn't," Elizabeth agreed flatly.

Was it a trick . . . ? Was this Knives' idea of revenge?

His expression fell a little, and when the engineer remained rigidly where she was standing, he whined. "Is there something I can do that would make you believe it's really me? This is really uncomfortable . . . "

"Vash . . . we saw you . . . you melted the bulb." The engineer struggled to find the words. "Hundreds of iles were terraformed. There is no way you could have survived that kind of drain. There's . . there's _not_."

He blew out a sigh, turning towards the door at an unexpected yell. "What you saw . . . that wasn't . . . all me," he admitted after a pause, a little lamely. "At least, I don't think so."

Meryl chewed on that silently. If it wasn't all him, part of that energy was Knives? Or the Plants that had been surrounding the bulb?

Or the Plant that hadn't left the caverns at all. The one that had been missing.

"One of the Plants stayed with you," Elizabeth said slowly.

He nodded.

"Which one . . . ?"

"She never gave me her name," Vash said quietly, studying his left hand. "I don't think she wanted one."

So it was the Plant from the New Kennedy.

In her mind, it clicked. Vash had had part of the arm back already, by the time she and Doc had been wheeling him out of the infirmary. If she was responsible for it back then, she could have helped him again –

And channeled all that power into healing him, healing whatever was wrong with him.

"She taught me how to get my Gate back under control. But it . . . killed her." Vash hesitated. "And me, almost. I was unconscious for the better part of a week. After I woke up, Knives and I . . . we talked." He curled his fingers into a loose fist. "We're going to continue the project. If you're willing."

The engineer stared at him. "That's it?" she asked bluntly. "You thought you'd just walk into the room and tell us that you're alive and well, and we're just going to carry on like nothing happened?"

"No," he assured her, softly. "A lot's happened. Everything's changed."

"Clearly," she shot back. "After all, Knives is downstairs masquerading as you."

Vash sighed, falling silent for a moment. "I understand that you're angry-"

"Angry? I'm not _angry_, Vash. I'm many things, but I'm not angry." The engineer's tone disagreed. "I am terrified, from spending every waking moment in fear that your brother is going to find me and demand to know why the plant conversions have stopped. I am exhausted, because every time I close my eyes I see myself putting you into a bulb. Every time I put food in my mouth it tastes like ash. Every time I –" She cut herself off as the doorknob rattled.

Vash watched her intently, the briefest wave of – annoyance? – crossing his features, and then he closed his eyes.

"I know it hasn't been easy for you. All I can ask is your forgiveness."

The engineer pressed her lips together, trying hard to rebuild her mask, and Meryl found that she felt strangely detached. Maybe it was the blow to the head, but she wasn't angry, either.

"Are you . . . still a Plant?" Her mouth, on the other hand, apparently still had feelings on the matter.

He looked down at her, relief in his eyes. "Yes. But I'm not one hundred percent yet, and we anticipated trouble, so Knives is standing in for me while we sort things out."

"The saboteurs haven't taken any action." The engineer said it dismissively. "There's no sign of anyone from the New Kennedy still active in Collins."

The door handle didn't rattle, this time – it simply turned, the deadbolt sliding smoothly away as an invisible hand drew it back.

"Then you haven't been looking," a cold voice replied, and Millions Knives pushed the door fully open, stepping into the room. He hadn't actually taken Vash's coat. His was shorter, cut a little cleaner and certainly lighter. He didn't have it fastened, either, and his shirt was red as well. As the jacket shifted the soft fabric, Meryl could tell there was something beneath it – probably armor, Vash's had been visible under his shirts if he turned just right-

His eyes were powder blue, just as she remembered them, and they took her in coolly. In return, Meryl gathered her feet under her and stood.

Like hell she was going to sit on the floor in front of him.

The corner of his mouth turned up – and Vash frowned. "Did you confront any of them?"

"No." Knives nudged the door closed with the heel of his boot. "They're content to observe, for the time being. And speaking of which, the mayor is now quite eager to see the project finished."

Vash's frown deepened, and Meryl chose not to look at either of them, studying the suite instead. There was no longer any noise from the hallway, not with 'Vash the Stampede' on their floor, and the series of rooms seemed to be holding their breath.

"What of my men?" It was a shadow of the formidable engineer's previously imperious tone.

Knives gave her a long look. "They are intact. Inform them we will be extracting the Plant immediately."

"She hasn't agreed to continue working with us," Vash interrupted, his voice too strangely neutral. "I was just about to ask her."

"Yes, you're taking your dear sweet time, brother. Need I remind you-"

"I'm aware," Vash cut him off, and Knives' smirk spread.

"Very well. Would you prefer I wait outside?"

"No." Meryl blinked, though she was sure she wasn't as surprised as Elizabeth seemed to be for saying it. "Vash would never loiter in the hallway. You've attracted too much attention." The engineer gave them both a long look. "We'll complete the extraction tonight, but then we need to talk."

Vash's relief was almost palpable. "Then . . . you'll help us?"

"For a price," she growled, and then cast around the room for a moment. She crossed the bedroom with the beginnings of her usual sashay, grabbing a small clutch. Then she gave Knives a long look.

"Vash typically follows along behind me like a lost puppy. Shall I assume you will be deviating from that norm this evening?"

The Plant seemed to contemplate his next words. "Do not mistake me, woman. I too am displeased with this arrangement. However, Vash tells me you were merely doing as he instructed. For your sake, I hope that is the truth."

The engineer glared at him. "It sounds like we'll enjoy our time together this evening."

Millions Knives returned her glare with one of his own, then his eyes flicked to his brother's, and he turned on his heels and opened the door.

Elizabeth looked between them a moment, and Vash tentatively smiled. "Eh . . . have fun?"

"You had better be here when I get back," she growled, and then she stalked out of the room. Knives sighed, though it wasn't as resentful as Meryl would have expected, and then he followed her. The door closed firmly behind him.

And then they were alone.

For a beat they were silent. Then another. Vash took a preparatory breath, but Meryl shook her head.

". . . your eyes are different."

Vash blinked them at her, bewildered. "Really?" He glanced to her right, then headed to the chest of drawers, leaning in close to the mirror above it and inspecting them. "I guess I haven't really looked."

"And . . . your arm, it's –"

He didn't stop his study of his reflection, wrinkling his nose. "It is," he replied. "Sort of a by-product. I still don't remember . . ." It trailed off, and he dropped his eyes to his left arm, rubbing his wrist. "It feels like her," he said quietly. "Like she left a piece of herself in me."

Meryl bit her lip. "And you're still . . . you?"

He took a long time to answer, watching himself in the glass. "Maybe for the first time." He released his left wrist to grab a handful of his bangs, frowning at them. "This dye didn't work well at all."

"You didn't apply it properly." How many times had she heard Millie tell her the story of her Big Little Sister dying her hair for the first time? "Honestly, how can you be so old and . . ."

And she wasn't sure what she was going to say. Words were insufficient. He met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her, and even if his hair was brown and his eyes were dull, his arms felt _exactly_ the way they had before.

I called for you. You never responded.

_I'm sorry._ His arms tightened around her. _I wasn't myself until just a few days ago. We came as soon as it was safe._

And is it safe? She closed her eyes and it occurred to her, belatedly, that she might be bleeding on him a little.

His chest shook with laughter. _Knives won't hurt you. Or Elizabeth. We agreed._

What about everyone else?

Vash was quiet a moment, and then she felt – something. It was hesitant and demanding all at once, with more than a little hope thrown in, and a deep dash of cynicism. _We acknowledged each other's point of view_. Vash's thought was very certain, no matter what feeling she was getting from him. _It's a true compromise this time._

So . . . it's going to go back to the way it was before? You were miserable-

"No." His real voice startled her. "This time will be different. This time we're going to do it together. The conversions, the collecting of our sisters . . . it's too dangerous to split up right now."

Meryl left her eyes closed, leaning into him. "And what about Eden?"

_Well . . . _ She felt a hint of amusement that she was sure was not being generated by her own brain. _I wasn't the only one who had a talk with Knives. I don't think anyone from the New Kennedy knows its location, and security is paramount, but if you get a chance to visit, I know Aliya would like that._

Her ill-fated sprint through the trees sprang to mind, and Meryl opened her eyes, pulling away just enough to look up at his face.

Yes. His eyes _were_ the same color, just dimmer.

"Is she the only one?"

He considered that a moment. "No, I think my other sisters would also – ow!" He released her, hopping on one foot, and she considered kicking him a second time.

_Is this . . . okay?_ For the first time, the thought was anxious. _Is it too soon, or too weird?_

"Too soon?" She couldn't help herself. "Vash, you don't do – what you did, that day, and then make me think you're dead for a few weeks, and _then_ worry about something like that!"

He blinked at her, looking so innocent and honest that she almost felt sorry for kicking him in the shin. Almost. "Don't be mean, Insurance Girl, I didn't-"

She put two fingers to the cut, just in case her blood pressure caused it to re-open, and Vash dropped the act, stepping back into her space and putting his arms right back around her.

"So . . ."

"So," he agreed.

She looked up at him, pursing her lips. So what now?

In answer, Vash leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on her temple. _I don't know._ It felt . . . honest.

Knives still doesn't like me.

_He'll come around. I really believe it._

You'd believe anything.

He sighed, and she felt contentment – his contentment. _Yeah. I guess I would._

Meryl closed her eyes.

-x-

**Author's Notes**: I am certain I probably lost a few of you with the cliffie from last chapter, but for those of you who stuck with me . . . thank you. And I'm sorry. This took way too long, and it's not the same story it would have been without the hiatus in the middle. It was a huge learning experience for me – I would have almost been better off letting it end where it ended, and starting a whole new story from scratch rather than trying to pick up the style of the previous work.

So thank you. Thank you for letting me practice. Thank you for letting me know what you thought about the fic. These last twenty chapters had some good places – but it's not my best work by far, and Trigun really deserves that best. It's such a rich universe, and Vash and Knives really aren't as two dimensional as they appear so frequently in fic.

Well, at the very least, the boys have found some peace. You should really hit up Inkydoo, I hear she's going to start work again on The Long Slow Goodbye. And Meryl and Vash get a bit more of a chance in that one – you should check it out!


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